


Warlord

by holy_wow



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_wow/pseuds/holy_wow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is the Warlord of Fereldan. He's working to keep his clan alive against Loghains clan, Orlais, and anybody else that happens to look at him sideways. Anders is from Anderfels and as a sign of peace was handed over to Hawke. He's displeased and Hawke is an asshole. Nobody is quite sure how this is going to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He sat upon the horse, watching the sloping hills and towering trees pass as he rode. The sun hung high above in the crisp blue sky with no clouds in sight. None of that fought away the frown on the young man’s face. Especially the horse riding part. He hated horses. He also hated Fereldan and being out in the burning sun for long periods of time. He was from the Anderfels. He burned easily.

“Stop pouting,” an elderly voice said beside him and he cringed farther into the coat he wore, trying to hide in the fur lining. “Many would be honored to be in your spot, Anders.”

“Yes well, you should have sent one of them Wynne.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have met him Anders. Your life will not be as horrible as you think.”

Anders always wondered when Wynne would snap, old age and stress finally getting to the old broad. The fact that it happened on their little march through Fereldan was just his luck. Fereldan had once been the small back end country of Orlais. A large open expanse that was more uncharted than civilized. Orlais had tentatively claimed it, but had not the resources to do anything with it. Instead it filled with clans and tribes. None of which bowed to Orlais, but that was inconsequential at the time to anybody who even knew the fact.

One tribe leader, Maric Theirin had risen high carrying with him a large tribe. He began unifying the lands beneath his banner. Of course, Orlais took note, eventually. In the squabble between them Maric and his first born were killed. In fact many of his tribe were killed and the Fereldan tribes nearly split. Except Orlais was beginning to worry over it. And that meant they were making their presence known. Soldiers sent into the cold lands with cruel intent. Soldiers meant to bend the tribes to the will of the Queen.

The Hawkes swooped in then. Saved what was left of the Theirins and pulled back enough to gain time from the assault. While Alistair was Theirin’s son, it was Amery Hawke that led the second attack. Alistair at the front for show and Hawke behind him in the shadows, truly leading it.Orlais was pushed back however and had yet to try a third attempt on the land. Still, war had not ended. The tribes began to split. Alistair continued to look to Hawke for support and Loghain, Maric’s right hand man, called Hawke an usurper with Alistair under his thumb. The tribes began to split again.

It was here that Hawke truly surpassed all others. He rose to the top, standing firm in the chaos and reinforced all those loyal to him. He then pushed Loghain back, bringing many of the rival tribes, or aloof clans that still were on the fringes, under his sway. He was a warlord in the truest sense of the word. Leading his men through battles, conquering much land in his short time of ruling. He terrified everybody. That was why Anders was being carried across the land to be given to him. Fereldan wasn’t known for it’s great expanse of mages and Anders, the prodigal mage from Anderfels, was being carried over as a gift.

Which was the problem. It was going from one gilded cage to another. Or, one gilded cage to one that smelled of wet dog and mud. And now his cage was also one warlord of a man. Anders wasn’t sure how Hawke could not be bad. He was a barbaric, smelly, warrior. Probably as bright as a brick wall. Anders burrowed deeper into his coat and continued to pout. Wynne gave up with a loud sigh, pushing her horse ahead to avoid him. Anders made a face at her from behind his coat. It didn’t help anybody’s mood that they were getting closer. They knew because they could see the warriors making their way around them. A few had been present since they arrived for protection. But more and more seemed to be filtering around.

The one in front, Aveline, glanced back and announced with a point upon the hill, “We are here.” Anders nearly fell off the horse. They were close but he hadn’t expected- where was everybody? Wynne easily moved back beside him. She met his eye before glancing to all the hills. Anders looked closer. It was with effort that he saw them. All crouched and laying upon the hills. Some standing along the trees with arrows. More possibly in the trees.

They would all be shot down before too many of the warriors surrounding them were even singed, Anders realized. Hawke’s trust was also exemplary, but Anders was more worried about all the arrows trained on them. He dismounted slowly, trying to always look like he wasn’t going to cast anything. Wynne snickered at him. Aveline led them up the hill and he saw the expanse of yurts set up. There were plenty of people about, watching. Women and children by the fires. Mabari’s lay about, raising their heads and staring. Many getting up and following as their group headed to the largest home.

Sitting in front of it was Hawke. He sat hunched over the fire, a fur thrown over his shoulders as he prodded at the flames. The man’s hair a cherry wood brown, shining red against the fire, and a complete wavy mess as it fell down his neck. His bright honey brown eyes glanced up once, assessing them, before going back to the apparently oh so interesting fire. To his left was a barrel chested young man that wore the furs and leather armor that they were known for. Black hair smoothed back and braided. Same golden eyes as Hawke. And to Hawke’s right was an equally big man, golden hair tousled perfectly, as if planned to be such, a charming smile on his face that lit up his blue eyes. Aveline moved to stand off beside that one, shoulders squared.

Anders went over the group and wondered what was in the water to make everybody so damn big. Aveline was not dwarfed by any of them, he thought with a frown. Wynne stepped forward with a gentle smile. “Greetings, Sers. I am glad to bring you Anderfel’s offering of peace.” Anders glanced at the tomes in the chest beside him before back at the Fereldan’s.

None of them did much, though the blonde’s face brightened even more. He was such an anomaly in the group of sticks. The black haired man spoke up. “Here I thought they’d bring you a woman, Brother.”

Hawke didn’t even look up. “They didn’t? I assumed with the pretty dress and all- I mean, she’s formless but we can’t expect much from Anderfels can we?”

Good to know they were original, Anders thought with no amusement. Anders snorted, all of them looking at him. He did not shrink away. Especially when Hawke looked up with a raise of his brows. The man was large, the expanse of his shoulders under the blanket said as much. But Anders was no dainty flower, no matter what they thought. He was tall and had bulk enough to match it. At least, to not look a twig. He met the stare evenly. He wouldn’t outright ruin the chances here but he didn’t have to be happy.

Then Hawke stood and Anders had to eat his words. With him stood the other two as well. None of them shorter than Anders. But Hawke stood above him, shoulders even seeming to expand as he dropped the blanket and stretched. The man was a wall, Anders thought as his earlier comment came to mind. Shoulders like battering rams, arms thick with corded muscle. He too wore armor and fur, but there was no doubt that under that Hawke was hard as the steel he wielded. Anders swallowed. He was dainty flower in comparison.

Hawke jerked his chin at the chest of tomes and Aveline walked forward, flipping it open and thumb through them a bit. She glanced back and nodded. “To Bethany’s yurt then,” he said and she hoisted the chest up with a bit of a grunt before marching off. Anders was fairly happy not all the women were like her. Because she could probably break him in half. Anders knew that chest wasn’t exactly filled with feathers. He looked back to Hawke, who was eyeing him. “And him, he’s not going to be trouble?”

Anders almost got indignant, being talked about like he was an object. Wynne was quick to quiet Hawke’s fears while he puffed and pouted. “Anders is quite happy to be here.”

Hawke snorted as Anders glared at her. “I can see that.” Hawke shrugged however. “Doesn’t matter. I am honored to have received your offerings. You may return to Anderfels knowing that I shall not follow you.” Wynne smiled with a nod. “For tonight, we celebrate our guests and the alliance!”

Anders jumped a bit as the entire encampment cheered, fists in the air. The noise level was enough to shake a person. He glanced over to see Hawke grinning over it all. Food was brought out to be hung over the fire and passed around. Drums, flutes, and mandolins found places on the laps of the Fereldans. Hawke sat at the front, lounging and large. His brother, Carver to his side, and at Anders glance he said something that earned him a slap over the head by Hawke. Beside him was a curvacious, if not a bit dainty looking next to the men, Bethany who giggled as Carver yelped. Alistair was on the other side, stuffing his mouth with cheese and meat.

Anders, for his part, remained with his group. He wasn’t particularly fond of Jowan or Wynne or any of the others. But he’d take the safety of their normalcy over all of that.Wynne was at ease, but she had been here before. For negotiations. The others were mostly like him. Only a small troop had been sent in before, with Wynne. Some women brought the food around along with the buttered ale. For once he remained quiet, watching the entire place as it got wilder. He retired with the rest of them, following Wynne when she made her way to the yurt given to them. He wasn’t quite ready to give up on them. To be alone yet.

He settled into the thing they called beds here, mostly just furs and blankets, and glanced up when Wynne sat on the ‘end’ of it. “Anders, I know it seems like we’re throwing you to the wolves. That this seems like an attempt by Gregoir to get rid of you.”

“Seems? As if it wasn’t?”

“You were a problem child, Anders. But no, Gregoir actually didn’t want to send you. Didn’t really trust you out here, I think. But it was very important to send somebody worth something to Hawke and his horde. You are a prodigy. You have great skill Anders. You have power and you have the control. And you are young.”

“Good to know Hawke likes them supple, Wynne. Thank you.”

She sighed, summoning on her patience. “You had to be younger because we couldn’t be sending somebody my age, Anders. It would seem like we were just handing off the next corpse to him.”

Anders pursed his lips and frowned. “Lots of thoughts went into this huh?”

“Anders- everybody was terrified when Hawke’s horde was seen around the borders. Nobody wants a war with him. Especially not Anderfels. We are not fit for war. Not anytime soon. We have mages but that is about all.”

Anders still couldn’t work up the empathy to not be displeased with what was happening. It must have showed on his face because Wynne gave another large sigh before standing and returning to her furs. Anders burrowed deeper beneath his own, curling around himself and pouting. He already missed Mr. Wiggums.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a few days before Wynne and the rest left, but nothing changed. Anders watched them go with a heavy heart. At least in Anderfels he already knew what he hated and that everything was boring. He glanced back to see Hawke staring at him, scratching at the stubble along his jaw languidly. Anders glared at him. Not that it intimidated the man. In fact the warlord snickered at him before turning and making his way towards Alistair.

It was Bethany who made her way over to him. “I do not envy you, Ser Anders,” she said, glancing at him. She was also a mage, he had learned. One of the only ones in the horde. “I would be devastate to leave my family behind.”

He snorted. “Yes well, it’s not like I had much back in Anderfels. But it was mine.”

“Objects? You are not sad to leave your family? Friends?”

He glanced at her, her big golden eyes so young looking. “I didn’t have those.”

She gasped. “That’s horrible. I am so sorry. It’ll be much better here.”

“Really?”

“Well yes. You’ve already got a friend,” she said with a bright smile, indicating to herself.

Anders raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh really now? I am quite the fortunate man to have one such as you already holding me dear,” he said. He was laying it on a bit thick but he was used to having to work quick.

“As long as she doesn’t hold you close,” a low voice rumbled behind him and Anders spun to see both of her brothers glaring at him. Anders admittedly hadn’t thought about them. He swallowed and steeled himself.

“Arms lengths, all the time,” he said with fake cheer.

Neither brother looked impressed. Hawke spoke before Carver however. “Best remember that. You’re going to be spending a bit of time with her.”

“Pardon?”

“Bethany is a mage if you hadn’t noticed. And it’s best if you share knowledge.” Hawke shrugged. “Get some use out of you since I’m going to have to feed you.”

“Teaching Bethany earns a meal? I taught her how to punch and you still-”

“Yes Carver. Shut up.” Hawke smirked over his shoulder and Carver grumbled, crossing his arms and looking petulant.

Anders however was paling at the thought of earning a meal. Like he actually would starve nights that Hawke thought he had been lazy. “I’ll be more than happy to spend lots of quality time with my new friend.”

“He’s a wordy one,” Hawke muttered, unimpressed, and Carver snorted. “Alright, brother, get Aveline and the two of you mount a force to see that Wynne get’s good and gone in one piece. Regroup with Morrigan and have the troops pulled away from the border.”

Carver nodded before the names comprehended. “Bloody fucking- you’re putting me, Aveline, and Morrigan together for a time?”

“I could send Alistair instead of Aveline.”

“I’ll go get our woman shaped battering ram and have her suit up.” Carver stomped off.

“Glad you see things my way,” Hawke called with a smile before glancing back at Anders and Bethany. One of whom was giggling. “Morrigan will possibly join your study group upon her return. Assuming she has time between missions and spying on me for her mother. Fair warning.”

“Another woman?” Anders didn’t mean to sound so interested. Really.

“A witch with just enough bitch thrown in to make her dark, mysterious air actually appealing at a base sexual level.” Hawke shrugged and turned to Bethany. “Get him out of the dress and into something that will save his ass if somebody attacks.” And then he was gone, making it way into the crowds and yurts.

Anders glanced at Bethany. “Somebody attacks?”

She just smiled, all sweet and reassuring. She did not fit in. “It is unlikely that somebody will. But raids from Loghain or some of the fringe tribes wouldn’t be completely out of place. Come, this way. We’ll see about getting something that will fit you.”

Anders followed after her. Not that it was difficult. She had a lovely ass. He worked up the courage to ask his questions. “He let’s a woman here spy on him?” Start small. Maybe.

Bethany glanced at him. “Morrigan is the daughter of Flemeth-”

“Not the Flemeth?”

She shrugged. “Nobody knows. But that is what she calls herself. Anyway, Morrigan is her daughter. Back when we were still struggling with Orlais and the wounded, Carver ended up taking a horrible hit. He was a bloody mess. I am not so good with healing. Especially when I can’t see the wound. It was horrible. But Amery refused to let him die. He tasked me and the herbalists with the duty of keeping Carver alive as long as possible while he took his most trusted friends and went on a hunt for the witch.”

“That seems less intelligent and more foolhardy.”

“That is my brother, yes.” She giggled a bit. “But he came back. Morrigan in tow. She is not much of a healer either. Nor is she a battlemage like myself. She is much more wild, with spells that curse and twist a person. But she knew well enough how to save Carver- and she doesn’t usually let him forget that. Amery announced that she would be staying. That was the cost for her healing Carver. I imagine there is more going on with Flemeth and my brother, possibly both brothers now. But Amery does not often speak of it. And Morrigan definitely does not.”

Anders glanced at the yurt they approached. “And everybody is okay with that?”

“Amery informs them, us, of what we must know. But it does not do for the entire tribe to know all the secrets,” she said with a shrug. “There was distrust of her at first, she was an outsider and a witch, but she has found a niche. She is accepted, if not liked.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely existence.” Anders should know.

“She prefers to remain on the fringes I believe. Or, is content there.” She shrugged and held open the door for him. He dipped in and glanced at the red headed woman kneeling by the large loom, the song on her lips dieing as she glanced up. “Leliana, this is Anders. I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced.”

“Oh no, not yet,” the lady said, rising up and extending a hand he gingerly shook. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you finally. You’ve been the talk of the tribe for a long time, ser.”

“Orlias?” he whispered, glancing at Bethany. “You all didn’t miss the way she talks right?”

Leliana smiled a bit, shaking her head, and Bethany giggled again. “Leliana came with some soliders the first time they came to make us kneel to their frompy queen. A Sister to convince us to convert, or something. She tries to explain and I generally turn my attention to the flowers or the pretty colors of the sky. But when the soldiers lost she was left here. She agreed to live with us.”

“You don’t serve the Maker?”

“We know of him. But we look more to ourselves for our guidance and protection.” She shrugged. “We will do and take what we must.”

When she said that Anders realized she was a battlemage. There were those in the Circle that knew the arts and he thought them battlemages then. But staring at her then she seemed to grow and appear like the warriors he saw with their weapons. Strong and unbending, with straight shoulders and that sweet smile gone. He glanced back at Leliana who was watching the young Hawke as well. “I am watched, of course. I considered myself Fereldan before even coming here. My mother was from the tribes before she found a job in Orlais as a servant. I came in hopes of creating peace between my two homes. Upon having to choose one, I have chosen Fereldan.”

“Convenient,” Anders muttered.

“Carver thinks so as well,” Leliana sighed. “And Hawke is suspicious of course. But I am happy here. Which is more than I can say for you.”

Anders stiffened, glaring at her. Bethany intervened quickly. “Yes well, Amery would like Anders to start dressing like us. Not in a colorful robes.”

“They’re enchanted- does he not know that?” Anders asked, turning to Bethany to not talk about himself.

“Well,” Bethany said, glancing at the fine embroidery and bright blue of his robes. “You can go ahead and enchant your armor and casuals, Ser.” Her smile was large and he wasn’t sure if she was mocking him. She was so sweet but she was related to Hawke.

“Come here then, please. I’ll get your measurements and find you something. And, well, I don’t take care of the armor so-”

“I really don’t wear armor.”

Both girls glanced at each other before they shrugged. Leliana indicated for him to strip as she turned to go through some of the clothes she still had. He glanced at both of them, neither of whom seemed all that keen on leaving. Bethany sat down on a cushion, quickly asking about Leliana’s plans. Anders wasn’t exactly modest but considering he’d mostly just met them made this a little more awkward than he liked.

Bethany glanced at him and noticed him fidgeting more than actually unbuckling his robes and gave a giggle. “Oh right, sorry. We usually have so many layer on you never see skin,” she said. “I’ll go take a quick gander at hunting party. I’ll be back!” She exited the yurt and Leliana chortled before giving him her back.

“Oh- um,” Anders stumbled as he began unbuckling the robes. “Hawke said that I needed to earn food? I meant to ask.”

Leliana laughed a bit as she went through some of the clothes. “Do not panic. You are apart of the clan now. So long as you continue to be apart of the clan Hawke shall take care of you.” Anders frowned but said nothing else as he worked through his robes.  
He was put in pants, shirt, and an overcoat with furry spaulders until Leliana could make up something better. She apparently never quite accepted the Fereldan way of dress and was keen on getting him in ‘something much more fitting for somebody with his charming looks’. Usually family made clothes for each other, he learned, but since they were both orphans they would take care of each other. More or less, Anders figured. He exited the yurt with a goodbye and thank you.

He glanced around, searching for Bethany. Or wherever that hunting party might be. He made his way around, fiddling with his robes. He had them folded under his arm. He still wasn’t sure if the yurt Wynne had used would be his. Or where he would be sleeping really. Hawke hadn’t done much to explain anything to him, honestly. Anders was beginning to think the giant barbarian didn’t like him or something. He scratched at his stubble, worried that he didn’t see Bethany. All he would need to do would be to offend somebody here and then have them break his jaw.

Because Anders was prone to do such. Get mouthy and mock somebody. He’d probably insult their dog or something and then they’d have to let the dog maul him for the dogs honor. He frowned, disliking the path his thoughts were taking him. While the mauling would be bad, it was more the idea of all the dog slobber that really grossed him out. He frowned as he glanced around a yurt.

“Can’t say I like the feathers but they’re better than your skirt.”

Anders jumped and spun, ready to run of need be. Hawke was staring at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m so surprised the horde leader has such a keen eye for fashion. Honestly, explains how you made it this far. Loghain must have atrocious fashion sense.”

Hawke hummed. “I care more about survival. You trying to run these lands in a skirt, while hilarious, wouldn’t make you all that useful.” He sniffed, staring down at Anders. “Feathery shoulders ain’t much for survival either. But Leliana has to do what she must I suppose.”

“You’re so understanding. Letting her make me so pretty and all.” Hawke snorted. Anders glared at him. “I agree. I thought that colorful robes were prettier.”

“Sure. You go be oh so pretty and colorful, mage. I suppose you’d still be useful. Giving the enemy an easy to spot target and some bait is sometimes a good plan. Then you’d be a pretty pin cushion,” he said with a smirk.

He was an exceptionally handsome man with a sort of roguish charm. Strong square jaw and thick stubble. And Anders was pretty sure he had a body to die for beneath all those layers. But that ego and the things he said. It wasn’t even like he was just a suspicious leader looking out for anybody, it was like he just was so completely above him. Anders glared up at him.

“Oh, Anders! You’re done and you look wonderful!” Bethany said, holding her skirt and running over. “And Brother, you aren’t busy?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “No.”

Bethany rolled her eyes. “Is he remaining in the same yurt?”

“I don’t see why not. Does he need another one?”

“No. Just wanted to make sure. He can put his robe away now.” Hawke glanced back at Anders before shrugging. Bethany and him left shortly after that, she offering a pleasant good bye and Hawke grunting as they passed. Anders glanced at Bethany as she made her way towards the yurt. “Please, just, give my brother time. Amery has many talents. Sadly socializing isn’t as high on that list as, perhaps, other things.”

“Well, we can’t all be perfect.”

“Yes. Only a privileged few can reach my level,” she said with a playful smile and he actually laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is basically just more exposition. 
> 
> In reference to the language. Anders learned Orlais which is what Leliana speaks. The Fereldans speak something similar enough that he (and she) were easy to adapt to. For Anders, especially because he had people like Wynne helping him out.
> 
> Otherwise, this was a boring chapter. Personally this story has too much Bethany for me. But I'm working around my general distaste for her. I just find her so extremely bland and boring in game that I don't want to write her. But she's useful in this story so I'm figuring out how to make her interesting. Which, all in all, is good. I like a challenge.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders spent a long time after that finding his own niche in the large tribe. It was a bit difficult. Between being a mage, which nobody was quite at ease with, and from Anderfels, Anders found he wasn’t quite liked. At least at first, though they were quickly softening up to him. Surprisingly they liked his humor. Bethany helped with it- everybody adored her. Even with her magic. That wasn’t surprising. But she guided him through the culture, teaching him the do’s and don’t of the tribe.

He still didn’t have too many friends. But he found that he felt more free here than he did back in Anderfels. He was allowed to roam if he wanted. Go where he wanted. He could do what he wanted, sort of, as long as he did his work. Nobody really stalked him or watched him. There weren’t any Templars watching and waiting for him to explode and kill everybody. It was so refreshing and he felt so free.

And as long as he didn’t have to talk to Hawke, he usually had good days. He liked watching Hawke- Hawke was very watchable. A lot of the Fereldans were very nice to look at. Alistair, Nathaniel, and Teagan were some of the few he’d gotten the names of. Carver and Hawke were both lovely to stare at as well. As long as they weren’t talking to him. But Carver was gone so all he had was the pretty memory of the tit. As for Hawke- they both seemed to agree to avoid actually conversing with one another. Because the more comfortable Anders got, the more snarky. And they were clashing.

Hawke was magisterial. And that hit something old in Anders. It was funny but Alistair, the man who had been trained as a Templar, didn’t even hit him the way Hawke did. It wasn’t even Hawke’s size. He was bigger than most of the Templars anyway. But it was the attitude. When he wasn’t condescending he was simply mean. Anders had watched him yell and growl at a young kid, he had to be new to the whole adulthood thing, until the boy looked ready to jump off a cliff to regain some sort of honor. All over how the kid had his sword strapped wrong on his hip.

And at the same time Hawke would wow him. The man was musically inclined. He had a gorgeous lilt to his voice, the rhapsody leading into a crescendo the captured the entire clan. The man could even speak with a cadence in his voice, the baritone voice smooth and hypnotizing. His fingers surprisingly deft as they played an instrument. Or the softness he showed with Drogo, his mabari hound. He’d laugh and tumble, flipping the dogs ears and wrestling with the hound. Small moments like that made Anders think about reconsidering the idea that Hawke was nothing more than an ass. A capable ass, but an ass none the less. Bethany kept saying all he needed was time and he’d come to see Hawke wasn’t so bad. Anders wasn’t holding his breath.

Anders wasn’t impressed with the whole traveling thing either. It was such a large clan that Hawke wasn’t moving them that much. Not with Loghain apparently waiting for the right moment to kill them all. But they moved frequently enough that Anders found it was going to be a hassle. Mostly all the packing. Before, with his travels, he always packed extremely light. Instead, now, he had an entire yurt to pack. He shouldn’t of complained- and never did that loudly- but it wasn’t his favorite thing in the world. So, marching across the sloping hills, he tried to find something to interest him.

“Honestly Hawke, the tomes are damn useful from what I’ve gotten from them,” Alistair said, catching Anders attention. “I mean, Bethany of course knows more than I do. But what I learned from my training, they didn’t just hand over dust collectors.”

“Isn’t it nice to meet people who are honest?” Hawke said with a chuckle.

“We’ve been around the Dalish so long I was even beginning to wonder about human goodness outside the clan what with the way they speak,” Nathaniel muttered, earn another chuckle from Hawke. “Velanna is perhaps a poor influence.”

“Perhaps?” Alistair said with a shutter. “If not for the arguments she has with Morrigan I think I’d very much not like her.”

“Damn bitches,” Hawke muttered, though Anders could hear the smile in his voice. “Sadly next time we run into them I don’t know if Morrigan will be back. We’ll probably share the tomes with them. Get the Dalish to continue to play nice. I know Loghain isn’t too wonderful with ‘em so- enemy of my enemy and all that.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how all of this just happens for you Hawke,” Alistair said with a shake of his head. “But then, if it didn’t I might have had to lead this clan and I’m okay with you being lucky.”

Hawke laughed then. “I have my moments. Though, nothing comes without a price,” he said and the mood turned a bit more solemn. Nathaniel caught Anders gaze and, though the expression was stoic Anders got the impression he wasn’t a happy little archer man. He said something to Hawke who glanced back and then shrugged. “Leave him be. If he’s as good as they say he’ll be useful. And if not the tribe can always use another womanly hands to take care of the home.”

“He should know his place and to keep his ears away from conversations that don’t concern him,” Nathaniel said.

Alistair frowned. “Honestly, don’t be so harsh.” Nathaniel shook his head but let the subject drop. He excused himself to scout ahead and Hawke glanced back again to stare at Anders. It was a single moment before they heard the howl of the hounds. Hawke spun around to see the ambush, letting out a curse. He began shouting orders, Alistair and his dog covering him as he ordered the women back. Then, with such finesse and refined skill, spun with his claymore in hand. Hawke cleanly sliced a man, tossing him away with a ferocious roar. Drogo howled in response.

Fire began raining on the bulk of the enemy and Bethany stepped up beside him. She was steel, shoulders back and head raised. Her entire body humming with the magic just beneath her skin. “Either return with the women or fight. But do something,” she snapped before swinging her staff to impale the nearest men on ice. Then she stepped and swooped, catching another man with her staff, the man falling on his back, and then she brought he staff down on his face. The man did not get up. She stepped over him, searching for the area she could do the most damage.

Anders of course had fought before. Ran into bandits or wolves when he had run from the Circle. But never had he actually partook in a battle. A small war. He reached for his staff, lightning at the tip of his fingers, and with a deep breath, joined the fray to defend his newest home. It was a grand flurry of action then. Spells and swords mixed with screams and roars. Anders struggled to keep up with all of it.

Then it was done and Anders gasped, leaning on his staff as he stared out over the dead bodies. Some of them from Hawke, others from the other clan. Their faces painted, covered in camouflage and foliage. It was easy to tell the difference between both of them. He straightened as his ears cleared from their ringing and filled with the groans of the injured and dying. Shaking away any of the shivers he got from the battle, he glanced around for the first. Instead his eyes settled on Hawke. A grand figure in the middle of carnage, standing tall against the horrors.

Anders tried to wet his throat, tongue like cotton, and turned to Alistair. The man had stepped back during the fight and remained close to him. Kept the bulk of the charge from getting him. Anders had issues with the man in the sense that he was as Templar as one could find in Fereldan. But otherwise the man had been the closest he’d had as an ally in the camp. And this was testament to that. He straightened, catching the other man’s attention. “Do you require healing?” he asked.

Alistair sniffed, rubbing some blood away from his eyes. “Still got enough in you to heal?” he asked. Anders nodded. Even if he didn’t have enough energy, he felt like he needed to. At least for Alistair who had defended him. Alistair switched his old battered shield onto his back with a shrug. Anders held his hand out, healing the most grievous injuries. Alistair frowned through most of it, obviously uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Anders problem. When the soldier went to cleaning his blade he turned to find anybody else in dire need.

Bethany and Nathaniel had made their way to Hawke, both of them talking at the same time as the man glowered at both of them. Anders sniffed and turned in the opposite direction. None of them looked in desperate need. He heard the coughing and sputtering He glanced around, finding the painted face of a young man-boy twisted in pain. Anders felt his gut tighten and he rushed over. The boy sputtered and tried to get away from him. He was probably cursing him, Anders realized. If not for the choking on his own blood thing. “Stop,” Anders hissed, grabbing the hand that was trying to punch him.

The boy continued to glare and choke on his blood. Though his struggling was weak and was stopping. If only because he was losing the blood to do so. Anders set his staff down and searched for the gut wound. Had to make sure all his innards were inside before he closed it up. He found them tangled around the bush and realized the boy had been crawling before he had laid back to just die. Anders hands shook as he worked the innards without tearing them. He was a healer. He’d dealt with his share of wounds. But this was simply ghastly.

The boy had stopped trying to talk, though he was still choking. Anders tried to hurry. “What in blazes are you doing?” Alistair said when he glanced up, sheathing his sword. Anders didn’t respond. Didn’t have time. This boy needed his help if he was going to-

The large claymore cleaved through the boy’s neck like a guillotine. Anders fell back, glancing up to see Hawke glaring down at him. Anders would realize later Alistair had been speaking to Hawke. And more in aghast to him not speaking to Anders before killing his patient. But at that moment Anders stared, mouth agape, as Hawke glared down at him and was confused. And terrified. It wasn’t even his usual, slightly disinterested and a bit broody glare. It was downright monstrous. And when Hawke growled as he hoisted his weapon back up, Anders struggled to breath through the fear. He wondered, later, if Hawke meant to strike at him. But instead he turned to face Alistair. “Get this fucking idiot out of here.”

Alistair was quick to hoist him up, shoving his staff into his hands, and dragging him back towards camp. Once there he was shoved out of hearing distance of everybody else. “Ancestors help you if anybody saw that. You can’t just heal the enemy.”

“He was just a boy,” Anders said, coming to his senses.

“He was a man fighting for his clan, you sodding fool.” Alistair rubbed his face, forcing himself to calm. “If anybody else saw that- they could demand you be behead Anders. You acted the part of a traitor by aiding an enemy clan member right after they ambushed us. Ambushed our clan leader!”

Anders stiffened. He hadn’t thought of that. As soon as he’d seen the boy he’d moved straight to action. He fell back against the tree, watching Alistair. “Would he?”

“Depends on who’s demanding it. What kind of support they’d get. What he can argue back. If he wants to argue back.” Alistair turned his gaze towards the women and children. “Ancestors watch your ass, Anders. If there is backlash you’ll need their help. And Hawke’s.” Then he turned and made his way towards the women to check on them. Anders frowned before letting his head slam against the tree once before he spent the rest of his free time cursing himself and his usual luck.


	4. Chapter 4

The entire clan was moved quickly as soon as the dead were burned. All the dead, even the dogs were honored. Hawke pushed them, demanding they keep pace. Anders noticed that the large man didn’t look at him once. Anders tried to keep himself small and out of the way. He offered to heal anybody that needed it but Hawke was moving them too quickly. Any unable to move on their own were carried. Anders was too scared to bother anybody to ask where they were headed now.

They didn’t slow down even as they entered the thick woods. Anders was quick to notice that the kids were able to keep up, the women carrying the babes on their backs. He was the only one having problems, not counting the wounded. That was disheartening. They walked long into the day, Nathaniel and some other scouts ahead. Then Hawke raised a hand and everybody stilled. Complete silence. Anders held his breath.

“Rats crawling and bleeding all over our forest,” a voice said, the disdain even dripping from it. Anders head shot up to see the blonde dalish elf glaring down at all of them. In the trees were a dozen elfs, all with arrows pointed at them. And then her, a mage.“Polluting our forest. So loud- crashing through. You are no better than our children. Juvenile.”

“Yes well, your ears are clownish, Velanna,” Nathaniel said, suddenly behind the elf. She jumped and spun, her glare so hateful as she likely considered pushing him out of her tree.

“We are friends Velanna. Stop with this posturing,” Hawke snarled, resuming the march. The other elfs loosened their bows, disappearing into the foliage and reappearing on the trail as they walked. Nathaniel appeared behind Velanna as she marched forward. She attempted to get in front of Hawke but the man had too large of strides. She would have had to of run or jog and that would have been unseemly. At least, that was the impression Anders got.

The trees parted to a clearing and Anders stared at the caravans and aravels of the dalish. “Marethari,” Hawke bellowed. An elderly elf with silvery hair made her way over, smiling knowingly.

“Hawke, it is always surprising how you can find us,” she said. “What brings you now?”

“Mostly the woods and their cover. But your cooking isn’t so bad,” he huffed. Valenna marched passed him, indignant and spitting fire. “And I think I’d ruin Velanna’s spring if we didn’t show up to let her verbally abuse us some.”

“You are such a pompous man. Morally repulsive. My world would brighten if you would just fall off it, Hawke,” she said.

Hawke just smirked. “But see, if I did you that for you, I’d ruin everything you’d ever said of me. I’m actually doing you a favor by continuing to be exactly what you think I am.” Velanna opened her mouth to respond, stopped, had to think again about what he said, and then growled at him. Impressively even, before she turned and stomped off. Not without another hateful look at Nathaniel, who was grinning in the back.

Marethari shook her head. “You are welcome to set your yurts up with us, Hawke. As always.” He nodded and signalled. Everybody began to move, the clearing going from near silent to bustling like a marketplace. Bethany saddled up beside him, cautious but she guided him towards a place to set up his yurt.

Instead of leaving or helping him she simply stood and stared at him for a long moment. He awkwardly tried to start a conversation. “Thank you.”

She scowled. “I need to know,” she said finally and he straightened. “Are you here?” The infliction of that last word told him everything.

“How can you ask me that? I don’t have anything but this. I was handed over here like some sort of object. I don’t have any loyalty to Loghain. Or, Maker, whoever it was that attacked us.”

Bethany frowned. “Or the Hawkes,” she whispered and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “I understand.” She turned and walked away and Anders floundered. She was gone and Anders fell back down and kicked at his bag before dropping his head in his hand. That did not go well at all. Nobody else even acknowledged him as they went about their business. It wasn’t like most of them were his friends, so rationally he had no reason to care that they were ignoring him. But it felt like a third blow.

It was late into the night that Hawke finally showed up to talk to him. Anders licked his lips and prepared his habitual defense. Snark. “Didn’t know if you’d make time for me,” he said. Hawke glowered down at him, not even acknowledging he said anything. “So am I being kicked out?”

“No.” Hawke turned to glance at the rest of his tribe. Anders swallowed. Alistair’s words in his mind. Beheading sounded painful and even with Hawke’s strength there was a large chance it would take a few strikes. Especially without the adrenaline. Still, he wasn’t going to be the one to mention beheadings. But Hawke had gone from being a bad conversationalist to down right horrible.

“Oh good. I’ve grown fond of my tent.”

“Yurt.”

“Okay, yes, yurt.”

Hawke turned to face him fully. “What you did was unacceptable. I had thought you at least marginally intelligent. We are at war. We are always at war. The enemy does not get your pity. If you show that weakness Loghain will use it to get to me by ripping you apart. And Orlais is not known for mercy.”

“I know. I get it I do.”

Hawke did not budge. “If that soldier had lived and ran away he could have killed this entire clan and the elves. The lives of all the warriors, women, and children would be on your hands. I don’t think you’re strong enough to carry that burden. But the blame would be yours. He would have returned, informed his warlord, and they would have been hot on our heels. We would have led them straight to Marethari and hers.”

Anders flinched. “I wasn’t thinking-”

“I am now going to have to clean up your mess. You are a valuable asset if you will work. I can use you. The clan can use you. But spirits help me- I do not enjoy cleaning up your mess. I do not enjoy making exceptions. Do not make me do so again. If you cannot abide by my rules you will leave.” He waited for an answer, even though Anders didn’t hear a single question in that speech.

But, because this was likely the only time he would ever have the option, he tried to think quick on an answer. He glanced around at the people. There were too many dogs. And Hawke was everything he hated. But there were lots of children and families. And he knew he would be useful. He could heal. More than that though, somehow, they were smiling. The children were laughing as they ran around. It was a large clan, there were always the disgruntled and the angry. A few depressed. But overall, the ambience was jovial. He glanced back at Hawke. “I don’t have anywhere else, Hawke.”

He didn’t smile. “Then follow the rules.” He turned and stalked off.

Anders slouched, glaring at him. “Gib mir Kraft, mich von meinen Sünden zu befreien,” he whispered, not feeling up to making his yurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember what exactly Anders says at the end. Something about praying for forgiveness for any sins he will be forced to commit. It's from Google translator (German) for anybody who needs word for word.
> 
> Also, because I always forget- I am always open to any critiques. Anything you think would make this story better I'd be happy to hear it. I can't promise I'll take it to heart but I'd love to hear it. For any of my stories.


	5. Chapter 5

Things turned back to normal. It took a day or so but Bethany was back to being the sweetest girl in camp. She went back to talking to him and smiling at him. Which was in and of itself the biggest relief. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she left. Alistair was around a little bit more as well. Though he seemed to be more on guard duty than anything. Which was worrisome, but if he brought it up Alistair brushed it aside. Awkwardly. Anders hoped that, if he was in any real and very possible danger somebody would have told him.

He was sitting by the fire, trying not to wonder what he was eating, when he overheard Hawke. He and Hawke had been avoiding each other very much. Hawke somehow went right back to his usual routine which was more grating than the man actually seeming to care. As terrifying as the man was, at least that meant he cared right? Though, Anders knew himself well enough to know he’d of hated that too.

“We got some magic papers, Marethari.”

“Magic papers?” She was trying not to smile.

“Yes. Tomes. Scripture. Call them what you will,” Hawke waved his fork around, reclining back. “Though, careful with the mocking. I am the one with the magic papers.”

That got the old lady to smile a bit. “Of course. That must be taken into consideration.” She set down her cup. “And where did you get magic papers?”

“I’m friendly,” he said with a smirk.

“So friendly that they also gave you a magic person. I did notice, dear. Even though you’ve not been so polite as to introduce me.”

“It’s why they call me a barbarian,” he said with a sniff. Anders snorted quietly, agreeing. “Besides, you obviously know where to find him, Marethari.”

“I’d slap you if you were my boy, Hawke,” she said with a shake of her head.

“If it matters, my mama never was too shy to twist my ear.”

“May she sleep undisturbed,” Marethari whispered. Hawke hummed into his cup before he took a drink. “I would be honored to see what you are willing to share, though, Hawke.”

“Bethany has them.”

Marethari almost looked ready to throw her cup at Hawke. Anders wished she would have. Bethany made a face at her brother, an amused exasperation, before interjecting and filling Marethari in on the details. Anders frowned when he was pointed to. He knew why. Some of the tomes still needed him to translate them. He nodded to the ladies as Bethany continued to smile. It was still odd to think of her related to Hawke.

But they didn’t call him and so he figured they were going to do it later. Which was odd. He knew the Dalish weren’t that nice to humans. There wasn’t that many Dalish in Anderfels, but he knew of them. And he knew of their hate for humans. Yet here Hawke was welcomed. Not warmly, at least by the whole caravan. But they were allowed to stay and Anders wondered how Hawke weaseled that.

Slowly everybody dispersed as dinner was finished. Anders smiled at Velanna who hissed at him before Nathaniel said something she had to go and refute. Leliana made her way over, her smile perfect. Which meant it was practiced. Anders was wary but didn’t have any reason to push her away. “Dinner not to your liking, dear,” she asked as he stood, chunks still at the bottom of his bowl.

“Just not hungry,” he said with his own practiced smile. She hummed and he walked with her along the side of the camp towards their yurts. Anders hoped to finish translating one of the tomes that night. He wanted to get back on somebody’s good side and doing your job seemed to be the way to do it around here. He stopped when he noticed the large form of Hawke making his way into the woods. “What’s he doing?”

She stopped and glanced into the woods. “Lot’s of things,” she said, stepping back to watch. “He needs to set some markers for our family working out away from the clan. They know to check with the Dalish but it is better to give them signs. We have lots of family that needs to return.”

Anders frowned. “Wouldn’t somebody else do that?”

“Not always,” she said with a shrug. “But he likely wants to be alone.”

“It’s hard being the best I guess,” Anders mumbled with a glare.

Leliana glanced at him then, eyes slanted. “He is going to mourn all the lost,” she said, voice controlled.

Anders turned away from the disappearing man. “He’s so prideful he has to be alone to do so?”

“He is the warlord. The king. The leader. He cannot show frailty,” she said. “Not even the queen of Orlais cries in front of her people. To show remorse and sadness is acceptable. But you aren’t allowed to be human.”

Anders glanced back at the darkening woods, a mist rising. Anders had never known royalty. And he didn’t understand all the little nuances that came with it. Anderfels had its leaders, its king. But he was weak and Anderfels was hurt for that. At least, as far as Anders knew. He had tried to avoid authority in any forms before coming to Fereldan. Still, the idea that Hawke wasn’t allowed to cry for his people or whatever the man did- Anders admitted it was hard to see Hawke crying- seemed unfair. He turned back to Leliana, who was watching him.

“Well, that obviously isn’t too hard on him at least,” he said before walking past her. She frowned but did not comment further. It was obvious to most Anders and Hawke didn’t much get along. That Leliana kept hoping for something different proved she was a romantic that didn’t belong on the frontier. He made his way back into his yurt, which he was getting better at putting up. And keeping clean. Though, to be honest, he didn’t have a whole lot to make a mess out of. Which meant he really hadn’t approved on the whole cleanliness thing. Especially since he already had his socks strewn about. He lit some candles, which he pretty much stole from Bethany, and laid on the furs to finish translating the tome.

Which was why he ended up sleeping late. Honestly, Anders was beginning to think he just could not win. Especially since that was the day they were going to have an official mourning for the dead. All the women were wrapped in black shawls. The keening and old songs had already started, a story teller standing tall among the broken and unhappy. _Raise the Keen, ye whose notes are well known, tell your beads, ye young women who grieve; lie down on his narrow house in mourning, and his spirit will sleep and be at rest, the old man sang as the widows remained to the side, meditating. ___

Anders made sure to wear nothing flashy as he walked around. The Dalish were respectful, removing themselves from most of it. Though some were among the crowd, listening. Anders did not much have a place among the mourning. The warriors that required healing would not want to see him. Didn’t want to see him normally. They were wary and he accepted that. But he was sure the day they mourned the dead would not be a day for physical healing. Hawke sat in the back, dressed in black furs and dark leathers. Bethany and Alistair on either side of him, dressed similarly. Bethany had a shine in her eyes that meant tears and Alistair had his head bowed. Only Hawke sat straight and strong, overlooking them all.

Anders thought then, maybe, Hawke had to be strong because at that moment, nobody else was. And with him there at the top, the rest felt safe enough to prepare and mourn. It was an interesting thought. Anders still wasn’t exactly sure about anything when it came to politics. He turned away and found a place to sit. To be respectful. The dead died for him, in a sense. He could respect that. So he remained silent while the mist rose on the cold morning, pulling his fur closer.

Food was not brought out until dusk began to settle. It was then that Hawke began making his way through. He spent a long time with the widows and family. Never speaking, simply sitting among them. Solemn but a wall. Leliana began singing with the storyteller. Bethany moved to the children. Alistair sat with the warriors, eating and talking with them. When night finally fell it turned into a celebration. A celebration in honor of the lives the men and women had led.

Ale and beer was brought out and the food on brought out doubled. Anders had his plate filled and moved back to his seat. He then proceeded to have a staring contest with two, presumably young, mabaris and the kids that came along with them. Anders was fine with the kids. It was the pups that were as tall as his knees that bothered him. The smaller kid was silent, knuckle in his mouth. The other kid had been leading them around in hopes of getting scraps since they couldn’t yet reach the table with the crowd. Their mother was still meditating. Which meant somebody died for them.

Anders gave them a slice of the pig and they scampered off all smiles. He shook his head, watching them go. Thus he missed Hawke rising and making his way towards the crowd. Hawke had to pass him then. Anders jerked and leaned back to stare at the man’s face. Hawke stared at him, eyebrow raised in challenge. Or question. Probably challenge though. But after remembering what Leliana said, he couldn’t help but ask. “What did you say to the widows and mothers?” What could Hawke possibly do that wouldn’t ruin his precious image and pride?

Hawke stopped and turned to him. Anders felt like he was being judged, as if Hawke needed him to be worthy if he was going to answer. Which was likely with Hawke. Then he sighed, shoulders dipping just a bit. Anders scowled. “If it’s such a hardship to talk to me you can go ahead and just leave. I assure you, I know I’m a horrible nuisance.” Honestly, when had it been any different?

“I told them nothing. I simply helped them cry,” he said and Anders stopped, glancing up at him. Hawke turned and continued on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my absolute favorite chapter I've written so far. It's my most favorite thing I've written in a while. To explain I'll copy straight from the meme:
> 
> So this is mostly Anders having to accept that while Hawke is an unapologetic ass (who I think has acceptable reasons for growing up and being one at least some of the time) he's not a horrible person. Because if I don't at least make room for that there won't be room for growth in their relationship. Not that it'll make it easier. So between that and plot, this was mostly a chapter of setting the stage.


	6. Chapter 6

Anders, over the next few days, proved his brilliant lack of luck. He met Merrill, who was filled with all kinds of twisted logic, and had to work with Velanna, who was quite plainly a bitch. Her distaste for humans was obvious. Her attitude towards Merrill proved, however, it wasn’t just humans. Velanna just plain was a bitch. A superiority complex the size of the Tower he came from. And a stick up her ass to go along with it.

Anders of course didn’t voice any of these thoughts. Though he knew he and Merrill were going to get in an argument eventually over blood magic. He knew the Dalish had their own beliefs, though he had learned more during their short stay there than he ever did back in the Tower, but for them to not find blood magic to be as horrendous as it was seemed beyond stupid. The demons weren’t fair and weren’t looking to be nice. Somehow the dalish tended to not see a difference between spirits and demons, but overall wouldn’t the appearance of half just make you reconsider? He thought so.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose as Merrill prattled on about the tome in her lap. Bethany, all sunshine as well, sitting beside her. Velanna sat in her corner, the little storm cloud above her head thankfully not drowning them all. He was the odd man out, the book in his lap untouched. He did notice, however, that not all the books were present. He didn’t say anything, figuring mentioning that would also fall under the whole ‘betraying the tribe’ list. He flipped through the book, looking for pictures.

He jerked when a shadow enveloped him. He fell forward, turning and holding the book up threatening. Hawke’s face went from impassive to completely unimpressed. Anders glared at him as the large man moved passed him. “Oh! Hello Hawke,” Merrill said, waving and all sort of happiness and smiles.

“Is this how you spend your study time? Really?”

“And what did you expect, Amery?” Bethany asked, sitting straighter.

“Something that would annoy Morrigan,” he said with a shrug. “Getting Velanna’s smalls all twisted was just supposed to be a bonus.”

Velanna growled. “Disgusting perverted pig. Of course that’s where your mind goes.”

He rolled his head to stare at her. “Don’t be so naive, Velanna. If I was actually after you I’d be focusing on a lack smalls.”

Oh she looked ready to claw his eyes out and Anders wasn’t sure who he was rooting for.

“Do you have a reason for interrupting us, brother?” Bethany quickly intervened before Velanna could stand.

“I was attempting to see if sparkle fingers was busy.” They would have had to of asked which one if he didn’t jerk his head towards Anders, who felt his stomach drop. “I was surprised to find he wasn’t.”

Bethany frowned at him. He stared her down before turning to Anders, who had stood. “Yes, well?”

“Think you could handle some more fieldwork?” Hawke asked, voice neutral.

“Amery-”

He extended a hand and she quieted, moving back to sitting. Anders glanced from her back to Hawke. “Of course.”

He lowered the hand. “Then get ready.” Hawke turned and walked off. Anders tried to convince his stomach to settle. He glanced at Bethany, who shrugged, before handing over the book and making his way to his yurt. He grabbed his staff and the donned the thick hide coat he had before making his way around towards the group. He assumed the group was the people he’d be out healing. Besides, they were on the outskirts of the encampment and all. Though he didn’t see Hawke and wondered if he was actually going.

He realized something was wrong quickly. The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he realized there were two behind him. Herding him, he realized. Anders began to panic, glancing between all of them. He didn’t want to attack but everything was telling him this was wrong. That they were dangerous. Anders flinched and jerked when one shoved passed him, snickering. Varnell stepped forward, staring down his nose at Anders. “You’re the traitor then. Piss licking Anderfels have never been that smart.”

“All that cold freezes the brain,” another said.

“I think they just go crazy with all ‘em mages about,” a third hissed.

He spun, noticing how far they’d gotten from camp. Panic tightened his throat. He had always been luckier than other mages but- he spun back to stare at Varnell, not able to stop his hands from shaking. He summoned his lightning- to hell with the consequences. But then he felt it. The way all the air was gone from his lungs and his world went white. He lost all coordination and teetered before dropping to- probably- the floor. Somebody was a templar. Was Alistair-

“I’m from Orlais, abomination. Where mages know their place,” Varnell whispered in his face, though Anders was still struggling to see anything. Then the large hand was on his throat and the man started talking to the others but Anders was to busy struggling to breath. His blunt nails dug into the wrist. But then he felt another hand rubbing up his thighs and he tried to gasp, t. “Like that, mage?” Varnell spat, grip tightening. Anders had tears in his eyes as he fought for air, for grounding, something.

Then suddenly the hand was ripped off his throat and Anders collapsed into the dirt for a long moment. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, staring up at the back of Alistair as the man glared at the group as they stumbled away. It was Hawke, holding one of them up by his armor, that had their eyes however. “Varnell- I’ve never liked your face. I told you to never give me a reason to fix it.”

Varnell snarled as Hawke dropped the man he was holding, letting him crawl off. Hawke’s own loyal behind him. “You are protecting traitors now?”

“Shouldn’t be much of a surprise- I’ve put up with you and yours.”

“You sent away Petrice. You obviously don’t have any qualms-”

“I should have gutted her.” Varnell twitched, snarling. “All of you will hand over your weapons and be flogged.”

“You’re protecting a mage. A traitorous mage over us! Over full bred and won warriors!” Varnell screamed.

“And you, Varnell, will kneel to me. You will kneel and account your crimes.”

Varnell straightened, eyes narrowing. “Of what crimes do you speak, Warlord?”

Hawke didn’t answer. But that hard stare was enough to stop a charging bear. Anders swallowed, his gasping the only sound for a very long moment. He stood, angrily wiping at the tears in his eyes. Alistair shifted, shielding him further. The next seconds were a whirlwind. Some of the group moved forward, pulling out their swords to hand over. The others, the traitors, disagreed. The fight was hard and quick. Hawke slammed through them to Varnell. Alistair beat one larger man off with his shield, stepping back and pushing Anders with him.

Anders however was watching Varnell. The man was on the defense. A smart move considering Hawke didn’t know anything but offense Anders figured. Sword drawn before Hawke reached him. Though it didn’t do the man good. For a man of his size Hawke was quick and agile. For his size. But Varnell wasn’t exactly an elf and in thicker armor. Hawke’s hand was sliced as he grabbed the blade, his elbow connecting with Varnell’s nose. Varnell took a step back before his fist connected with Hawke’s face and another to his gut. Hawke didn’t stutter, his hand latching to Varnell’s throat. But a second man came behind Hawke, aiming for the ribs with his own dagger.

An arrow, a dalish Ander realized, embedded itself in the man’s shoulder. But he stumbled into Hawke anyway and Varnell fell to the ground while Hawke turned to snap the man’s neck. Varnell took the chance and ran. Coward, Anders thought. Though, he wouldn’t have lasted that long probably before running off with his tail between his legs. Anders didn’t have so much pride that he couldn’t admit that to himself at least. Hawke glanced back, most of the men giving up at the point. Or laid dead on the ground, the dirt soaking up their blood.

Anders frowned as Hawke stared into the distance. Nathaniel was at his side quickly. “Follow him?”

“No. You’d be hung up in a tree for me to find tomorrow.”

“I could take him.”

“Not whoever he’s running to. Just make sure he stays gone.” Nathaniel nodded and ran off towards the woods. Hawke then turned, glancing over the dead. As soon as he took a step Anders could see the grimace of pain. A healer he had trained himself to see that. Made lots of coin and eased his own conscious when he ran from the Tower. Anders frowned and he saw the giant’s feet falter.

“Catch him,” Anders said and Alistair glanced at him before back at Hawke.

“Shit!” Alistair swooped to catch Hawke, dropping to his knees as Teagan was at his side. “His wound reopened! Damn it all.”

“Get him back to his yurt,” Teagan said, straightening. “You- healer- time to get to work.” Alistair grunted as he hoisted Hawke up.

“I don’t need magic,” Hawke grumbled, pushing Alistair away to stand on his own. Alistair still held him up. “I expect this-”

“Cleaned up, men tied and flogged, and yes, I will try to keep Bethany from worrying. Please go sit down and rebandage that at least,” Teagan said, turning to the other men. “Let’s take care of this!”

Hawke grumbled as Alistair pulled him towards the yurt. “Come on Anders.”

Oh, good, Anders thought. He’d get broken trying to heal the broken man. He rubbed his neck, wondering if he even had the magic to heal the giant. Who was glaring at him as he passed. “Don’t need magic,” Hawke hissed. Alistair nodded, not listening as he shouldered the yurt open. “Heal just fine on my own.”

“Of course you will. I’m going to go make sure Bethany is okay.” Alistair glanced at Anders. “Unless you need me here.”

“No. First act of trust in a sign of truce right?” Anders muttered, pulling at his professional mask. Because, if he had that he would be okay. He could forget all of that. All the memories it brought up, all the fear, and he could do good. And if he couldn’t, he didn’t need both Alistair and Hawke to see him break down. Only one would do, honestly. Alistair nodded, worry in his brow, before leaving. The fact that everybody wasn’t surprised was ringing bells in the back of Anders head, but he’d worry about that when Hawke wasn’t bleeding out and he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So RL has decided to all of a sudden suck. In response I remembered that I haven't updated this in a bit (so yeah, take that RL, or something). Anyway, little bits of action to keep ya'll entertained. I was a bit proud of this chapter, I believe.


	7. Chapter 7

Anders easily began fretting when the large man began to remove his clothes. He was going to worsen the wound. “Stop!” he hissed, moving to help. Hawke glared and snarled, continuing to remove the layers. At least he hadn’t been wearing all his armor. Hawke didn’t push him away, though he made it apparent he didn’t much want his help. “Do you have water? A bowl?”

Hawke stared at him a moment before jerking his chin to the other side of the large yurt. Once the man was nude from the waist up he quickly went to get them, and the rags beside them. Hawke held one of his shirts to the wound, stemming the blood flow. Not a hiss of pain coming from him. Anders came back, staring as Hawke tried to stand. A moment of wondering how stupid he was. His side was ripped open and he was going to do what? “Stop it, now. Sit and stop trying to kill yourself, please,” Anders said in his professional healer voice.

He was surprised when the man actually stilled, eyebrow raised at him. Anders, while a bit worried he’d be gutted for it, refused to back down. Not about this. Hawke sat back down, watching him. Anders, already sure magic was going to be touchy, began with just cleaning the wound. He knelt beside the man, gently reaching for the shirt covering it. Hawke removed it with no such formality, raising his arms to shake it out and look at the stain. Anders would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t preoccupied.

Because he was quite busy with the wound. It had been stitched together with string. No magic, and fresh enough that it had come from the ambush earlier. He was paying attention to that and the anger he felt at not being asked to care for Hawke sooner. Because if Hawke didn’t trust him why would any of his people. That was what Anders as completely paying attention to.

Not the fact that he had been correct. Hawke was a wall. His muscles weren’t for show, like some of the men in the Tower. They weren’t perfectly defined or rippling. But he was large and the dips and curves, the proof of all his strength, was worth ogling. The hair along his chest was coarse, dipping down past his pants line. The criss cross of scattered scars was disturbing and brilliant along the man’s skin. He could see the dirt and sweat and everything that just reeked of masculinity. No, Anders wasn’t paying any of that any mind.

He gently probed the wound with the cloth, frowning angrily when Hawke tossed away his shirt. “Stop aggravating your wound.” Hawke chuckled, stretching an arm up to glance at the wound himself. Anders made a grieved sound, wishing he had the nerve to poke at the wound. For petty reasons. Once the blood and grime was gone he was able to see the way the wound had festered. He glanced up at Hawke. “This could have killed you. From the inside out- assuming you didn’t rip yourself in half or bled out.”

He scoffed.

“You are not invulnerable. Why didn’t you ask me to take care of this?” Anders hadn’t even noticed he had been wounded at first. The man was capable of hiding wounds. Not a good thing for the resident healer.

“I don’t need magic.” Hawke sniffed down at him.

“You just might,” Anders said, staring at the infection. “And even if you didn’t, shouldn’t you just get me to heal this so you’d be all healed. That sounds marginally smarter than continuing at half your strength.”

“At half I am still better than most.”

Arrogance. How surprising. “That doesn’t defeat my argument that full is better than half.”

“Since I don’t need full I don’t think I should have to suffer through... this.” He glared down at Anders.

“This? The process of saving your life? So hard to suffer through,” Anders muttered, dunking the rag again before laying his hands on the wound. He glanced up. “May I save your life?”

“If you must.” Hawke’s jaw clenched and he glared at Anders hands. Considering his sister was a mage Anders wasn’t sure where the dislike came from. Anders personally didn’t think he was in any position to question it. The mage gently pulled out what was left of the stitches, dropping them in a pile. He summoned his magic, hands glowing as he watched it fight the infection and the skin begin to knit itself back together. When he finally pulled away there wasn’t even a scar. Though he imagined that too would offend the warlord.

When he looked up Hawke was staring straight ahead. “You may lower your arms.” Hawke did so, finally looking at the handy work. Anders wiped it one more time with the wet cloth before rolling back on his heels. Hawke ran a finger where the wound had been. Then his eyes drifted up to Anders.

After a long moment, it seemed at least, the man finally spoke. “Thank you.”

For some reason that seemed to break whatever wall Anders had made. “Did you know he’d do that?”

The oddness in the man’s eyes disappeared, instead replaced with all that hardness and arrogance again. “I have always suspected Varnell. He was close to the bitch Petrice. You are lucky to not have met her.” Hawke glanced around, searching for a shirt. Anders couldn’t imagine he was cold in the soft late spring weather. Maybe Fereldans really were just modest?

“You knew he was going to attack me? You sent me to him?”

“I never told you to go to his little group of traitors, mage.” Hawke turned to face him again. “That would have accomplished nothing. I had thought at least. I didn’t think him so stupid to do something like that.” He spit in a form of curse, finally finding the shirt he wanted.

“But if you had known?”

“I’d probably of attempted to get Morrigan to do something when she got back. She’s enough like her mother to know what to do with a man like Varnell.”

“What?”

“If I knew mages made him stupid I’d of gotten one with both the breasts to tempt him and the courage to face him.” He shrugged before pulling his shirt over.

“Courage?” Anders quailed and saw red at the same time. He thought back to the hands trailing up his legs and tried to keep the panic at bay. That Hawke would send anybody to that-

“Aye. Morrigan has plenty of that.” He must have seen something in Anders expression. “You fear for Morrigan? Hm. You’ve never met the witch. Varnell would be too narrow minded to know what to do with her.”

“He was templar trained!”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at his yelling. “Yes. So is Alistair. Morrigan would know that.”

“Why didn’t I?” He chest constricted.

Hawke paused, blinking. “So we’re back on you. You were not informed because Templars are as important as mages. I’m sorry to say, you’ve not been here long. I don’t need the other clans, any clan with a mage, to know what the numbers of my Templars are. Varnell was always careful. But I regret that I was not prepared for this. You are under my protection and to an extent I’ve failed. It will not happen again, Anders.”

Anders gaped like a fish up at the man.

Hawke rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care to know the horrors of your past. But I accept that you have some. And I accept that my misjudgement of Varnell is not as small I was making it out to be.”

Anders felt his shoulders slump as he nodded dumbly. “Thank you?”

Hawke shrugged. “I cannot protect you if you do not trust me. You are no use to me if I cannot protect you.” He stood with a grunt. “Now, get out. I need to get dressed and you have people to heal.” Anders glanced to the bowl. “Leave it. Go.”

Anders stood and exited the hut quickly. Outside he saw Alistair being yelled at by Bethany. A humorous sight. Alistair leaned away from her frowning. Though he was still barring her way. Brave man. “You - get out of my way Alistair! If my brother is hurt I will go see him unless he- he!- bids me otherwise.”

“He did.”

“Not to me.” She glared at him, amber eyes electric.

“Bethany, Anders is taking care of him.”

“My brother is liable to snap the poor man in half and you know it.”

“You’d be surprised some of the things Hawke has said about Anders.”

“I’m sure I would be,” she said, unbelieving. Anders refrained from snickering. “Alistair. He is my brother. Please.”

“He is fine, Bethany,” Anders said, saving Alistair by walking over. “Better than he was, now.” He glanced at Alistair who had the decency to look a bit shamed.

“You healed him? Entirely?” She glanced at Alistair as well after his nod. “I have your word?”

“You do,” Anders said.

“Then I will leave him be,” she said with a private smile.

“And I shall go harass him,” Alistair said, quickly retreating.

Anders pulled at his coat, watching Alistair disappear behind the cloth. The questioned that burned his tongue finally came loose. “Does Hawke hate magic as much as the others?”

She frowned. “I don’t know how much of a right I have to tell you any of this, Anders. And for your safety I would not spread this. Most know- Loghain for example. It’s not really a weapon against Amery, but it is- it angers him.”

“I wouldn’t want that,” Anders said, for once not using snark.

“No, you wouldn’t.” She rubbed her arms. “Magic is overly traitorous. It whispers to demons and they whisper to us. And we can be quite weak.”

“So he’s of the mindset of Templars then?”

“Not so. We are not caged, hunted, or even watched if he does not think there is cause. Most Fereldan mages were not brought up to fear our magic, our lives, the whispers we hear. We are brought up to conquer them. But sometimes we are still weak. And sometimes we feel we must act evil for the greater good. Amery has faced that and because he faced that he is wary.”

“He’s fought an abomination?” She nodded, staring at the dirt. “Somebody close?”

She just stared at him a long moment before speaking. “It was not a quick battle. I don’t know when it began, just when it ended. Either way, magic can be horrible on the body and mind. And Hawke knows that too well.” She stared sadly at the floor a moment before turning away. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He nodded, watching her go before glancing back at the yurt again. At least with all this new information and enough people injured he was sufficiently distracted from his own past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Amery Hawke being an asshole. And questions. Lots of questions. Which will be answered. I have also promised to write from Hawke's POV as more is explained because I'm a cruel person and enjoy keeping you all in the dark with Anders. Also, comments and Kudos make my day. Discussing the story makes me more likely to enjoy writing this. So please, don't be shy. I've got tough skin and can handle both criticism and praise.


	8. Chapter 8

Merrill sat, braiding the flowers as she watched the halla. Anders had walked over to look at the deer like creatures. She smiled up at him. “Oh!” So happy to see him. It was odd. “Hello. Good morning!”

“Morning.”

She beamed up at him. “How are you? I haven’t spoken to you since the whole thing. And I’ve been worried. If you’re okay. Because I can’t imagine facing a templar. I’ve heard about them and just the thought of what they can do.”

Anders frowned. “I’m fine. Thank you.” He hadn’t thought about that. Dalish didn’t have templars. They’d of had no idea what to do if they faced one. It disorientated him, brought him to his knees, but at least he had been conscious. Able to get back to his feet quickly enough. Merrill would have been utterly destroyed, he thought. The first time was always the worst. He swallowed and looked back to the halla.

“Even Velanna didn’t have bad things to say about you after that. I don’t expect it to last,” she said with a frown. “But she’s focused her ire on the templar man for now.”

“Does she ever have nice things to say?”

Merrill shrugged. “Never to me. To Seranni all the time. Her sister,” she clarified. “Seranni is a warrior and hunter and does not stay around long. And Nathaniel. He sometimes can confuse her into being nice.”

Nathaniel was one of those that really didn’t like him. Serious, even dour man. But he was witty, Anders could give him that. “I think they like their banter.”

She smiled. “I do too.”

Anders frowned, kicking at the dirt a bit. “Do you- have you known Hawke long?”

She picked another flower. “Not so well. The Keeper maybe knows him the best, besides those in the clan.”

“Clan’s not overly talkative.”

She nodded. “They are at war.”

“I’m on their side.”

“You don’t have to be. I mean, Loghain would probably take you in a heartbeat. You are very smart. I mean listening to you talk about a few tomes was confusing but you knew what you were talking about. And that’s pretty amazing. And you’re a healer. That too is amazing because that’s such a hard magic. You have to be so careful not to hurt the person more and- sorry. I’ll stop now.”

“So they don’t trust me because I can swap sides?”

She shrugged. “Do you have a reason to be loyal?”

“Do I have a reason to join Loghain?”

She finished the crown and stood. “Maybe they think he can give you one. Though, in my own small opinion, it would be better to make you like it more here- as Hawke- rather than worry about you joining another. Still, maybe that’s placing a lot of trust in a maybe. I mean, loyalty here is a big thing. Honor and whatnot. If you say something, you swear it on the souls of the dead- it means a whole lot. Anderfels- I don’t know if its the same. Or if you swore.” She stared down at the crown a moment. Then she shrugged, stood on the rock she had been sitting on. Then she dropped the crown on his head. “But I think you’re a good person and I’m sure they’ll come around.”

Anders watched her go, making her way towards the lady that ‘spoke’ to the halla. Whatever that meant. He shook his head. That had been a useless conversation. When he looked back some of the halla were watching him. As if that wasn’t creepy. He pushed himself off the fence and turned, seeing Hawke walked across the camp. He was all kinds of disgruntled and upset, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Hawke glanced at him before continuing. Then stopped and looked again. Anders stilled, raising a brow.

Then he remembered the crown on his head and considered yanking it off. But that would of course show his embarrassment. So instead he flashed his most suave smile and let go of the breath he was holding when Hawke continued with a shake of his head. Then Anders yanked off the crown and stomped off. He avoided most of the groups, still not feeling up to socializing much, and instead entered the forest. He wasn’t one for nature. Preferred cities. But there weren’t cities here. Just lots of dirt and mud and trees. Sometimes rolling hills and beautiful sunsets.

He missed cities though. Buildings all smashed together, cobblestone streets in the richer areas. Marketplaces where everybody was yelling and bartering. A certain smell in the air you couldn’t quite place but became almost comforting after a certain amount of time. Anders couldn’t believe he missed all that. But he did. He stared down at the crown in his hand, ruined now. He uncurled his hand and tried to fix it. Of course, he had no idea how. He sniffed when it just began to untangle.

Then it became harder to breathe and finally he just broke down. He wasn’t sure why he was crying exactly, and it was horrible that a broken flower crown was the final straw, but he was also pretty sure he had enough reasons to need a cry. There wasn’t even a gross amount of tears. Just a lot of dry heaving and some wet cheeks. He sat against the tree, staring at the destroyed crown for long into the day. Eventually he could take a breath again and it was just a stray tear down his cheeks. He craned his head back to stare up at the sky. Small specks of blue he could see from between the thickly covered branches.

He felt better. Which was more important than his pride, considering nobody was around to see him. Maybe a dalish or two in the trees somewhere. He sniffed and wiped at his cheeks with his sleeve. He unfolded his hand, watching all the flowers fall into the roots and grass, before standing. Trust was a two way street. And he was figuring out he was the one who was going to have to walk a little farther than Hawke. Than most of the others. Take the first steps. Because if he wanted to stay here that was the only way it was going to get comfortable. If he wanted to jump to Loghain’s camp eventually, he was going to need leverage.

He froze when he heard the sound of somebody running through the foliage. Then the elf flew through and he panicked a moment- waiting for a bear to show up. But then he saw the smile on the elf’s face as he stopped as well, glancing around as everything grew silent. Anders straightened, waiting. It was just a moment of the elf standing still that the other one dropped down from above. They both fell and rolled and then she was on top, slamming him down as she straddled his hips. “Gotcha.”

The young man huffed, went to flip them. They rolled twice and Anders was trying not to laugh as she ended up on top again. “Gotcha again,” she jeered.

He went limp beneath her. “Yes, of course. As always,” he muttered.

She laughed, glancing up and finally spotting Anders. “Oh, you’re one of Hawke’s? Hello.” The young man craned his neck back to see him.

“Afternoon,” he said, smiling.

The boy shifted, hips rising. An attempt to flip her again no doubt. She noticed, straddling those hips, and slammed her hands down on his shoulders. “Honestly, Tamlen.” She shook her head at him. Then back at Anders as the boy, Tamlen, cursed in the elf language. “Are you okay, mage? You look- distraught.” Tamlen stilled, again craning his neck to look.

Anders stiffened. “I’m fine.” She didn’t look convinced. “Things have just been difficult.”

She hummed, finally sliding off Tamlen. She extended a hand to her friend as she nodded. “Hawke and his brood are not the easiest of shemlens.”

“Don’t sweeten it for him, lethallan,” Tamlen muttered, pulling some leaves out of her hair. “Hawke and his are boorish.”

She swatted at his shoulder and he dodged with a grin before going back to untangling a stick from her hair. She shook her head. “You’re a jerk.”

“And you’re a mess.”

She swatted at him again. Then looked back at Anders. “Well, I’m sorry for your troubles. It is easy to relate to Hawke and them being so close knit. It is sometimes easy to forget people like you- trying to get in. It is harder for shemlens to accept then us to take in another elf, I suppose. It saddens me, a bit.”

Tamlen wrapped his arm with hers. “Another feeling?” he said, half mocking.

She pushed him with her shoulder before tugging him away. “We need to go see the Keeper. Dareth shiral, shemlen. I wish you good fortune.” Tamlen instantly started complaining and making a face as they walked. Anders watched them go, not realizing he was smiling until it slipped away. He licked his lips, threading a hand through his hair. Puppy love was beautiful to watch, he thought. And amazing how it could lighten his mood. He licked his lips and made his way back to his yurt, feeling a lot better after all of it. Already feeling like he was ready to get to doing something. Which was a good feeling, considering he needed to get to checking some of the sick and injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a thought on what to do with Tamlen/Mahariel/Merrill type deal. But even if I didn't I love Tamlen/Mahariel too much to not play around with it. They're right up there with my Cullen/Mage lovings.


	9. Chapter 9

Anders frowned down at the man, wiping his hands on the cloth. The large man (they were all large really) ignored him, and the scowl, to poke at the freshly healed skin. He’d had the skin torn through the ropes snapping when he was handling the yurts. Anders rolled his eyes when the man grunted. “All healed, yes,” he drawled, shoving the cloth back into a pocket. “Not even a scar.”

The man stared up at him from under his thick dark brows before sliding off the cot and rising up. “Thanks, I suppose,” he muttered, before fleeing. Anders sighed, turning back to see if anybody else was present.

“You’re welcome, I guess,” Anders said as he made his way around towards the bag. He had taken to helping the elves. They were less trusting of him than even the human clans. But he was better than their Keeper even at healing so when hunters came back they would visit him usually. Kept the Keeper free to do as she wanted or needed. Still, even with the added numbers he wasn’t as busy as he would have thought. Anders glanced over when he heard the flap and saw Alistair walking in. “What is it?” he said, straightening. He liked Alistair enough that he would be happier to help him then some others.

Alistair shook his head. “I’m fine. Really.” He pushed himself up onto the table anyway, sitting up on it. “So, thought I’d come see how you’re doing?’

Anders raised a brow at him. “I’m better. I am no longer expecting anything.”

Alistair nodded, glancing down at his hands. “If it’s any consolation- everybody has problems at first. Or at some point.”

Anders nodded. “I believe that.” He wished Wynne had prepared him more for this, to be honest. But then, perhaps the elder woman thought it would be easier for him since he was a healer. But then, so was she and shouldn’t she have known- even with the difference of their scenarios? Anders shook his head. It didn’t matter anymore.

Alistair nodded a bit. “Yeah. Anyway, since we’re on talking grounds I was volunteered to ask if you’d go on a scouting with some others.”

Anders laughed, unable to help himself as the uncontrollable laughter erupted and filled the entire yurt. Alistair watched him, understanding if not sharing. “Think I’ll get out to it this time?” he asked between the laughter. “Or, Maker, what will happen once I get out there?”

Alistair straightened. “Nothing. Spirits- nothing. I will make sure of it.” Anders straightened, a bit surprised to see the seriousness of the warrior. Noticing it, Alistair flushed. “I- what happened to you was _wrong_ and I _can’t_ let that happen again.”

Anders took a moment before nodding. Alistair was a templar and that was a fact always lurking in the back of his head. Moments like this made him suspicious. And that usually made him feel a little bad because Alistair was one of the few people completely nice to him. “Then I guess it’s okay to go.” As if he had a right to say ‘no’ if Hawke wanted him to.

Alistair nodded. “We’re meeting at the north end,” he said, sliding off the cot. Anders nodded, watching Alistair leave. Anders turned, making his way around to get dressed and find his staff. He made his way out and saw Alistair standing with Teagan. He licked his lips as he made his way over. Teagan was making small comments to Alistair as he glared at Hawke’s massive back. “I don’t think he’s going to much care, Teagan,” Alistair said, trying not to smile.

“Of course he doesn’t,” the smaller man called after Hawke before noticing Anders. “Are you going as well?” Anders nodded. “Oh Spirits. Does Hawke do this on purpose?” he asked Alistair.

Alistair shrugged. “He does respect you, Teagan. He just respects himself more some of the time.”

Teagan rolled his eyes, which is how he caught Anders confused stare. “I am unofficially an advisor to Hawke. I am the brother of Arl Eamon and Maric,” he glanced at Alistair when he said it. “Eamon died with Cailan and Maric. I almost lost my arm. And life.” He added the last part as an afterthought, as if his arm was more important. But then, to these warriors, maybe it was. “But Bethany was able to pull me through. Hawke sometimes admits that I have good thoughts and ideas.”

Anders raised a brow. “Really? At all?”

Teagan snarled. “Only the ones he likes.” He yelled over his shoulder. “Not ones like, get an heir. Or take initiative against Loghain. Or stop being such an arse about things.” He was loud and yet still remained a gentlemanly feel that most Fereldans couldn’t pull off.

Hawke stopped and turned marginally to stare at Teagan, who didn’t flinch. Then Hawke smirked. “Keep yelling Teagan, I can just barely hear you from up here,” he said. Anders then realized that, yes, Teagan was incredibly small compared to the other Fereldans. He wasn’t taller than Anders, though not shorter either.

Teagan threw his hands in the air with an aggravated sound. “Keep him alive. Both of you,” he said, glancing between Anders and Alistair. “He’s not allowed to die until I give him an ‘I told you so’ speech.”

Alistair laughed and nodded. Teagan shook his head and made his way back towards the yurts. Alistair began walking towards Hawke, who was speaking to Nathaniel now. Alistair began speaking. “Teagan somehow weaseled his way into Hawke’s good graces. I don’t know how. I’ve seen some people try what Teagan does. The blunt type approach- thinking it’ll win Hawke over with their guts and wit. Most people get backhanded. Which really isn’t impressive. The smaller list is people Hawke hasn’t backhanded.” Alistair shrugged a bit. “But it worked for Teagan. The rest of us had to earn the right to some of the time. And wonder what it was Teagan did. Because he’s so trusted that he could probably take over the clans if the Hawkes died.”

Anders nodded towards Hawke. “He’s coming with us though?”

Alistair nodded. “I suppose that doesn’t make sense to you. Orlais didn’t understand either.” He rested a hand against the pommel of his sword as he walked, staring ahead. “There are no citizens here. Not really. Nobody here wants to die on their back in some furs withered and useless. To be strong enough to survive and grow old- that is a wondrous. Something for others to see and marvel at. But it is a poor way to die.”

“That is... morbid.”

“Not only that, Anders. But we are all warriors. We are all made to wander. More so, to fight. Do you want a secret?” Anders nodded. “It’s only a secret to people like you. To those in Orlais. But the secret is- Hawke controls us because he gives that fire in us purpose- something specific to burn and a reason to burn it. It is how Loghain controls his. Without them we would just kill each other. We have a need to fight, a need to conqueror, and to move. We grow bored, restless without it. We do not want to farm. We will herd and hunt and steal. But do not ask us to farm. Hawke knows this. So he finds a way to keep all these warriors together by giving us a common person to kill. But for us to respect him- he has to be right beside us. And, maybe more importantly, he gets restless too.”

Anders glanced back at Hawke. “You’re all insane,” he said finally.

Alistair smiled. “And that is why the world fears us,” he said, almost at a whisper, before continuing with his long strides. Anders rolled his eyes. As if that was worth being morons over. He let out a sigh when he saw the pace they were going to take, moving the weight of his staff and following with a frown.

They were out of the forest and making their way across some of the plains, cold winds biting at what skin was exposed. Course, Anders was from Anderfels, where it never stopped snowing, so it wasn’t much of a trouble. Still, this was more walking then he ever wanted to do. “What are we doing?” he finally thought to ask.

Alistair again shifted his shield as they made their way up the sloping hills. “We’re setting out to meet some contacts. We received word that they were coming through and that means usually they have something to tell.”

“Usually?”

“Sometimes he just gets in trouble and needs to lay out here a bit for things to calm down. Then he can go back and finish whatever he started.” Alistair grinned. “His name’s Varric, by the way. With Bodhan and his son, Sandal as well. And Oghren.They all work together because it’s easier to pull a story with four dwarves than one. Normally I’d say Varric would prefer the challenge of going alone, but Oghren provides enough of a challenge I think.”

Anders frowned but didn’t say much else. He never would have considered dwarves good source for intel but it obviously wasn’t his place. He let the conversation fall into a lapse as they walked. It was uninteresting, which was probably a good thing. Exciting landscapes were good places for people to hide. And while hidden people were likely to make things exciting, it wasn’t the sort Anders wanted. In fact, all he’d really want was a normal conversation. But looking over the group of grim faces he was pretty sure that was far from likely.

Nobody said anything but they all must have seen the wagon on the road. Especially since their course changed towards it. There didn’t look to be a problem but Anders tried to remain alert none the less. Hawke, he guessed, was treating it like a trap until proven otherwise. It wasn’t long, however, before Anders was staring at the four dwarves. Varric, a beardless dwarf, Bodhan and his son who didn’t seem all right in the head, and Oghren who definitely wasn’t all right in the head- and probably had alcohol poisoning but his body couldn’t tell anymore because that had become its natural state.

“Hawke!” Varric said, shouldering his crossbow- which Anders was also curious about because what kind of dwarf was an archer or any sort?- and extended his arms in welcome. “You’re late.”

The dwarf was obviously charming. Anders could see that right away. This was a wordsmith if he ever saw one. Somebody that used words and lies the same way Hawke used his sword or Anders his magic. “You’re returning a lot more than you’re supposed to,” Hawke said. And it wasn’t a particularly aggressive statement, Anders still heard a bit of a threat in it.

Varric was nonplussed. “Orlais is becoming smarter. It’s only taken them years but one or two people in power are starting to pull their heads out of their towers of powdered wigs and looking up from all those shiny boot buckles. They’re finding people who have some semblance of intelligence.”

Nathaniel snorted as Hawke barked out a bit of laughter. Oghren was struggling out of the wagon, letting out a burp that disgusted Anders, while Bodhan sat at the front holding the reins to the horse and speaking to his son. Varric pulled Hawke aside, talking to him a bit quietly. Hawke straightened and nodded. “Oie, mage! C’mere.” He jerked his head. Anders glanced at Alistair as he passed. Anders glanced at the dwarf as he began speaking.

“This is your peace treaty gift from Anderfels?” Varric asked, scratching at the over abundant amount of chest hair he displayed prominently. Anders vaguely heard the sound of Oghren falling out of the wagon.

“Guess his name.” Varric shrugged up at Hawke. Anders groaned. “Anders. That’s how creative Anderfels is.”

Varric tried so hard to stop the laughter that it came out harder. “That’s why I’m never going there.”

“Not because the snow is taller than you year round?” Varric laughed again, nodding.

“This can’t be what you called me over for?”

Hawke sniffed, losing his smirk. “Sadly no. Sandal was injured on the way back,” he said and Anders instantly turned back to the young dwarf. His shift was an annoyance to Hawke apparently. His hand came up to the side- not touching but in the line of view. Then moved to a finger and drew Anders eyes back towards Hawke’s face. It took Anders a minute to remember this was a way the Fereldans interacted with their dogs. His face was likely red with indignation as Varric made a contemplative sound. “That’s right. Come back. Dwarves are resistant to magic-”

“I know that probably better than you, probably.”

Hawke stopped a moment and then continued like Anders hadn’t spoken. “-and Sandal is different from most dwarves. He can enchant. And weird shit happens to him. I don’t know if you can heal him- but try.”

Anders deflated, glancing back to the young dwarf who happily chattered with his father. He vaguely saw the red shape of Oghren stumbling over to Nathaniel who did everything in his power to avoid the stumbling drunk warrior that decided they needed to talk. He glanced back at Hawke, who jerked his head towards Sandal, and he made his way over. He vaguely caught that Varric was speaking again but didn’t catch the words as he neared the wagon. Sandal stopped and stared at him and Anders repressed the shiver. That was the stare of somebody that saw more than most. Or less. He didn’t let that sliver of fear slow him as he nodded towards the father.


	10. Chapter 10

Anders found out that it was probably best that he was warned. If, for nothing else, the fact that Sandal was not right in the head at all. Bodhan wrung his hands and seemed unable to stop talking. Sandal muttered off a few enchantment’s as he stared. Anders was gently working through Sandal’s clothes, as they had moved off the wagon, and was struggling to think of a way to get Bodhan to go away. He had no actual problem with Bodhan. In fact he seemed like a wonderful dwarf. But he was standing too close and worrying. Worrying and fretting and nothing good came from that.

All of them jumped to see Hawke moving to sit on the wagon. “Bodhan, Nathaniel and Alistair are going through the goods. You know better than Varric what’s in there. What’s worth anything. I’ll stay here. Make sure Sandal is fine.”

“Oh thank you sir. Sandal does like you and it’s much appreciated,” Bodhan said before telling Sandal to be good and listen to the nice healer and Hawke before shuffling off and giving Nathaniel reprieve from Ogrhen. Anders personally wasn’t looking to see if that dwarf had injuries. He turned his attention to Sandal who was staring up at Hawke now. Anders gently cleaned the arrow wound.It was surpringly well healed already. Anything Anders did would just finish up the process. When he said as much Hawke just shrugged. “He’s a special boy.”

Anders scowled and gently channeled some magic to see how the boy would react. To his surprise just the little was enough to completely heal him. Anders jerked back before he did too much. Sandal glanced at his shoulder before clapping his hands. Anders smiled. “All done,” he said, wiping his hands.

“Enchantment!” Sandal said.

Hawke smiled. “Old bitch still bothering you, boy?” he asked.

Sandal stared at Hawke a moment, as if having to decipher the words and contemplate the answer. “She’s scary,” he said finally.

Hawke frowned and nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Old lady?” Anders asked.

Sandal turned back to him. “She whispers horrible things.” Anders’ eyes bulged as he leaned back, Sandal’s voice changing. He glanced at Hawke who was staring at the boy, who glanced between them. “Breast high amid swaying gold- in her arms the lover of the sun who wins a many glowing kiss. The sky opens and shadows part as old seeps back and she sings like a murder. Exhale and she is gone. Everybody as they were. Winds and beatings of leather wings. The strong kneel.”

“What?” Anders had fallen back on his hands and butt, eyes wide. The voice, the words, all of it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Enchantment?” Sandal said, blinking his empty eyes between them.

Hawke slid off the wagon. “Silly kid ain’t he.”

Anders wished Hawke’s questions would sound like questions. And that maybe somebody in all of Ferelden could be normal. But then Oghren burped and he realized he might have been asking for too much from the Maker. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“You should have heard when he recanted the time the sky would bleed and the earth would bathe in ash and death. That one was fun.” Hawke reached down and basically hauled Anders back on his feet. Anders jerked away, all kinds of suspicious and a bit offended. Hawke of course didn’t explain himself as he walked passed him to escort Sandal back to his father. Anders wasn’t sure what to think knowing now that Hawke could easily carry him. Anders wasn’t small and it had always been a possibility but- he growled.

“I knew you were new, Blondie. Just not that new,” Varric said, walking up with a chuckle.

“Pardon?”

Varric shrugged. “It’s always fun to watch everybody struggle with Hawke. I’m trying to convince him to come up to Orlais with me just for giggles.”

“I should have known you were a sociopath,” Anders said. Not even counting the whole tension thing going on between Ferelden and Orlais, Anders was pretty sure the streets would run with blood and powdered wigs- maybe some ruffles as well. Worst part would be Anders was sure that would unhinge Hawke and then they’d have a crazy strong lunatic running through Orlais. As if the frumpy country didn’t have enough of that already.

Varric just laughed again. “You spend more than a year in Orlais and find out if it doesn’t turn you into a sociopath.”

“From what I know of Orlais, I can believe it did that to you.”

Varric hummed.

“You’re all crazy here aren’t you?”

“It’s a good crazy though, I think. Makes for a dashing story. History is going to eat Hawke and his up like a starving man devours a felled deer.”

“You’re doing all of this for history?”

“I’m doing all of this because it interests me to watch stories unfold and I do a lot for my interests.”

“And how does a beardless surface dwarf even end up with a- a crossbow and a drunk and some merchants all under the name of Hawke?”

Varric smiled. “You want the whole truth?”

Anders felt his brows dip. “Preferably.”

Varric smiled as he shook his head, the conversation apparently done with that. Anders scratched at the back of his neck. Really, was it too much to ask? Just a bit of normalcy? Just a little bit? He followed until he saw Sandal staring at him again. Suddenly he decided to make sure Oghren was going to live long enough to piss out his last drink. He turned in time to see that- much to his dismay- that wouldn't be a problem. He shielded his eyes with a sound of grievous pain as Oghren laughed and shook it dry. Anders was ready to send an angry mental letter to the Maker. Something wordy and eloquent. Something that voiced his pain because that was just unfair.

A day spent with all of them did not help with many of his problems, except Anders found out that everybody had some sort of back story. Especially, apparently, Nathaniel. They had been sitting around a fire, Varric trying to weasel out the story about the time Anders got out of the tower by being crammed in a barrel and ended up riding the freezing ocean tides. He’d ended up farther than he planned and had to rely on a mud rat- slang for the poor kids that scour the banks for things to pawn- to let him out. He had told them all that. A bit more elaborate.

What he didn’t tell them was the part that actually made him remember the memory with fondness. He didn’t mention that he lived with those mud rats and their family. He didn’t mention that it reminded him of before he became a mage. He didn’t mention that for those few months he had a mother again and little brothers and sisters. That he was normal and happy and there had even been a sweet stable boy in the town inland that had caught his eye- Anders found it easier to woo women most of the time but for some reason that stable boy had just glowed. And he didn’t mention that for once it wasn’t that horrible bitch Rylock that chased him but Cullen. And Cullen didn’t crash into the home and drag him out with snarls and threats.

Cullen had patiently waited in the forest while Anders said his goodbyes, giving them what he could to make their lives easier. He wasn’t sure why, but after he gave them all a kiss- save for the stable boy who he never saw again- he’d walked up the hill to the Templars. At that point he’d promised to put in a good word for Cullen. Maybe help the poor stuttering white knight by letting Amell know he existed. Though, honestly, Cullen did worse when Amell actually knew his name and spoke to him. Maybe because Anders stole his helmet too- but that was off topic.

All of them knew, however, that he wasn’t giving all of his story. And it wasn’t interesting and it wasn’t important and Anders shouldn’t have even brought it up. He didn’t know why they cared. Varric was the one most interested. “You remind me of an elf I knew once. Had a hundred stories and he was as charming as me if in a different way. From Antiva since I’m sure that explains almost everything. You remind me of him a bit. A very tame version of him.”

Alistair straightened. “That elf? You’re talking about that elf again? Can’t we just forget about him?”

“Still upset about that hm?” Varric snickered. “The elf almost wooed our fair templar before he attempted to assassinate some people. He’d have been lost if Aedan... if Aedan hadn’t been there,” Varric said. Nathaniel stood, rigid with his posture as he turned and stalked off into the shadows.

Hawke watched him go before going back to his meal, Alistair’s shoulders slumping a bit as he picked at his. Ogrhen spoke, words slurred and gruff. “Thought yer supposed to have control of that there tongue,” he said before taking another swig of his alcohol as he glared.

Varric was staring at his crossbow before glancing at Hawke. “Where is Fergus, by the way? I can make good on our deal now,” he said.

Hawke shrugged. “Out here somewhere. Been out watching, waiting. It’s all he wants to do for now. Won’t stay home.”

Varric hummed, Oghren again cutting in. “Don’t see why you care. Aedan,” he stumbled over the name, “he was a good man. And that’s more than some of us can say. But that’s all. Don’t see why it matters. None of it matters.”

Anders suddenly wondered what happened to turn that dwarf into an alcoholic. Except, he was sure he’d never really know.

Varric just lounged back, moving to take care of his crossbow- something else with a story well protected. Varric didn’t answer but Oghren wasn’t expecting any because he rolled and started to snore. Anders glanced over all of them until his eyes settled on Hawke. The large man tossed what was left to his dog before catching Anders’ eyes. He held the gaze for a bit, passive in expression, before fluidly stood and made his way out after Nathaniel. Anders wanted to ask about Aedan, the Antivan, about Hawke. But all their wounds were sore, festering, bleeding still. Anders remembered what that was like. So instead he retired to bed, intent on asking Alistair for the quick notes on the history of everything. Maybe it would actually be important. At least ease his mind, Anders thought.

Instead of Alistair, Anders ran into Varric. The dwarf was happy, eager even, to tell what he knew. And, honestly, was probably better at it than Alistair.

“You want to know about last night? Well, this goes back farther than even Maric. But I won’t bore you with all of that history. Just, bare bones. The Howes are one of the oldest clans in Ferelden. The thing is they are a very poor example of what a Ferelden is supposed to be. Nathaniel is a very large exception you see. Compared to his father, Nathaniel is like Hawke. They are a small clan and the only reason they were not killed off was because the Couslands liked them.

“The Couslands were one of the most powerful clans in all of Ferelden. They were powerful enough that they actually had land. Up north, near the border- which is even more impressive because of Orlais being there- they owned almost all of a corner of the map. They called it Highever and it was theirs. Nobody went there uninvited. The Couslands were honorable and strong and just. And the one person that embodied the spirit of the Couslands was said to be Aedan. I’ve never met him but from the sounds of it, he’d make a better hero than Hawke.”

Anders glanced down at the rolling hills, the landscape beautiful from where they sat. “And something bad happened to him.”

“Horrible, actually. I don't know what exactly happened- it’s my deal with Fergus to have the entire story- but he was captured by Rendon Howe. Nathaniel’s father, who follows Loghain. What you need to know about Howe is that he stabbed Bryce Cousland- Aedan and Fergus’s father- in the back and basically destroyed the clan as soon as Maric was killed. As soon as he had a chance, essentially. And since then he has done everything in his power to kill every single member of the Cousland clan.”

“And he got a hold of Aedan.” Varric nodded. “Nathaniel had been in the swamps for plenty of the fight against Orlais and when he returned Loghain and Hawke were already trying to kill each other. He ran into the Hawkes first and was untrusted. But Aedan spoke up for him and he was basically Aedan’s prisoner instead of beheaded. Some things happened and Nathaniel ended up shooting his brother- which proved his loyalty since his brother died- and Aedan was captured. Also, there was the Antivan elf too. He was an assassin. There’s more to it, but that’s about the extent of what I know for sure. Everything else was blown out of proportion by the gossip of warriors.”

“Nathaniel killed his brother?”

“He wouldn’t say that. Says his brother was captured by Rendon Howe. But yes, his younger brother by blood. He shot him down. Not right away, I’m sure. There’s more to this story and I want it.”

Across Fereldan Aedan sat, alive but not living. The cage they left him was not that large because Howe did not want him with the other prisoners. Some psychological torture most likely. To go along with all the other games Howe liked to play. He was only alive because Howe enjoyed the games. And to show Fergus. To show Nathaniel. Alistair, Hawke, and all the others. Loghain would have gotten rid of him if there wasn’t a little bit more of a purpose than Howe’s own sick pleasures.

Zevran knew all of this. He told himself it didn’t bother him. And yet here he was, visiting the young Cousland. He made sure nobody saw him slip in. He couldn’t be seen showing guilt or emotion towards the Cousland he helped catch. He had been supposed to kill Aedan and Fergus but Howe thought this was good enough. For now at least.

There were plans now to attack. Zevran listened and absorbed what he could. They didn’t tell him much but that wasn’t really a problem. But what caught his ear was the extensive beating, ripping, and bleeding Aedan had to go through recently. Nobody was talking about why. His prior beating- which were different from the causal tortures- had come from the time he had spoken to Delilah. Howe’s daughter. Nobody told Zevran what Aedan had said to her. Not even Aedan, and he was usually (oddly) friendly.

Aedan was sitting, drawing in the dirt. He was smaller than he had been when Zevran first met him. At first he had practiced still, in the small space. Working his body since he had nothing else. Then even that was taken from him. Not broken, but so constantly was he sliced that he couldn’t move like that. Not without healing. And now Howe was working on a way to deteriorate his mind. Zevran reminded himself that this didn’t bother him. That he was an assassin and detached. He held his breath when Aedan turned his head to look at him.

The fact that there was still a fire in his eyes, even if it wasn’t as bright, touched something that even Zevran couldn’t deny. “Zevran, ‘ello,” Aedan said.

“Dearest Cousland, we had the conversation about angering your torturer, no?”

Aedan glanced down at his hand, which was now missing two fingers, and frowned. “Yes, sorry.  
I just had to try,” he said quietly.

Zevran frowned. He knew what Aedan thought. That Howe and himself were trying to trick him. Howe being evil and Zevran attempting to be his friend for information. It was probably why Aedan, while never rude, never told him anything. “What did you have to try?”

Aedan glanced back at him, one eye swollen shut. “To kill Loghain of course. Howe too, if given the opportunity,” he muttered. Zevran waited. “More people were needed for the digging. I got volunteered.”

“You caused the cave in?”

Aedan smiled at him.

Zevran was impressed. He’d never met somebody so blindly stupid before. “You failed though,” he said.

Aedan hummed. “Noticed did you?”

“Afraid so.”

Aedan let out a forced chuckle, cradling his hand and staring where the fingers used to be. “Hey, Zevran,” he said after a moment, raising his head. “I don’t know why you’re still here. Why you haven’t gone back to Antiva. Or why you visit even. For all I know you’re around so that I’ll break easier. Because everybody breaks, and I will eventually, but it seems to be taking longer than Howe would prefer.

“But, if you’re staying around and happen upon Hawke or Fergus or Alistair or- anybody who could get the message to them... would you let them know that I never stopped loving them? Because if- when I break it won’t change that. I might betray them, dishonor them- myself maybe- but I will always love them. And... I want them... Fergus to know that.”

Zevran took a moment to compose himself, surprised by the request. Surprised by his own reaction. “Why would I do this? Why would you ask me?” I betrayed you, he thought.

Aedan shrugged, glancing back down at his hand before flinching in pain as he moved to lay down. “What do I have to lose, Zevran? I don’t have any dignity or integrity to lose. I have all the time in the world to waste. I probably won’t even ever know if you actually do it. So, maybe you should just agree, win my gratitude, and then decide what that is worth? It would be the smart thing to do.”

Zevran’s jaw clenched and he turned and fled the prison. This was all wrong. Nothing in this job had gone right. Absolutely none of it. He glanced over when he saw the messenger hawk circle to land, the soldier eager for the letter. It seemed something else was going to be happening soon. He turned to face the Mt. Haven where Loghain was digging. Zevran still hadn’t figured everything out and that was part of his problem. The other being Aedan. The elf frowned and removed himself from camp- finding somewhere secluded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I forgot to update here. I apologize to anybody not following on the kinkmeme. 
> 
> I have a poll (of sorts) going on if anybody wants Zevran/Cousland since they can be lovers or friends. And, on that note is there any preferences out there for who shags who in the story? I've been mulling over Beth/Alistair but some other people wanted Alistair/Cousland and- just I'd like to know if there's anything from my readers. I only have Anders/Hawke really in mind right now (and the Fenris lover in me keeps pushing to make it a 3 way but I'm not sure because I dislike Fenders personally and I'm rambling so- yes whatever). Thoughts from my readers are always appreciated. Any thoughts really.


	11. Chapter 11

Anders glanced up, his trance broken by the large boot of Hawke. Anders was incredibly happy that he didn’t startle like frightened animal as he jerked and stared up at the man. Hawke stared down at him, golden eyes bright. Anders waited, refusing to start the conversation again when Hawke came to him. It was a moment but Hawke did speak. “C’mon,” he said.

So informative. “Where?” Anders moved to stand anyway. He was pretty sure he didn’t have a choice but to go.

“You’ve been whining,” Hawke said, walking away from the camp. They had been making their way back and the road was longer and harder than before. The wagon slowed them down and they had to follow the road. Anders had been complaining- he didn’t whine- about a few things. He struggled to think about what offended Hawke and tried not to think about Hawke beating the shit out of him for being annoying.

“I’m sorry?”

Hawke glanced over his shoulder, glaring at him and Anders felt like kicking himself. He knew enough to know that was the wrong thing to say. His mouth ran off without guidance and damned him. Anders knew how Hawke felt about apologies. If there was something to apologize about, apologize with a point. Apologize only if you actually felt sorry. Don’t bow and scrape and beg. Not if it’s not that important to you. And for the love of the ancestors (as they would say) don’t be wishy washy with your integrity, pride, and dignity.

Anders dropped his gaze to stare at the dirt as they walked.

His head shot up when he heard the sound of water. He’d been wanting a bath- or at least to rinse off- since forever. In the Circle there were baths all the time. The water was warm and it was one of the few things that was actually nice. Besides that, having lots of good food and that stupid old cat were about the only things he could actually compliment the Circle on. The only things he missed. But he hadn’t thought he’d been complaining too much and-

He jumped when he saw Hawke begin removing his armor. The man was effective at removing all his clothes and in no time, considering the layers he wore, and Anders tried not to dwell on that. Or staring. But that was harder. His hair fell loose, jaw covered in bristled hair, and he had no sense of modesty to say the least. And the healer in Anders couldn’t look away from all the scars- especially now that he didn’t need to keep Hawke from bleeding out or anything. Plenty of them looked like they came from fights, battles, training. Everyday life growing up a barbarian.

But there were other ones that didn’t make as much sense if he looked carefully. There were whip scars on his back. That couldn’t be normal. And the burns. There was a grotesque burn along his hip. A hand print? It disappeared into the river and Anders broke away from his thoughts, blushing as he glanced back up. Hawke hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared. It could have been either with Hawke. Anders took a deep breath and began to pull off his leathers and coat, feeling clumsy as he kept glancing at Hawke. The man stretching in the water, back arching and head falling back. That’s when he saw the slit on Hawkes throat that the man’s height, beard, and girth hid.

Anders quelled his want to touch. To get rid of the pain. He thought back to Hawke’s dislike for magic. He thought of the burns. Anders swallowed and quickly moved to submerge himself in the water. He’d gone so quick that the cold snuck up on him and he broke the water with a gasp, arms wrapping around himself. Hawke snickered at him and he glared through his hair, feeling like a surly wet cat. “It’s cold,” Anders snapped- not whining.

Hawke smirked and fell back, submerging himself again. Anders fought with his hair, attempting to ignore the gorgeous, annoying man. He heard Hawke come up, spitting out water, and then the sloshing of him walking. The silence between them wasn’t hostile and Anders was surprised by that. He slowly lowered himself into the water again, rubbing at his skin to try and clean it. Splashing his face and almost feeling clean. He only realized Hawke was staring at him when he turned.

Anders vaguely considered the fact that he didn’t have a great sense of awareness. Hawke had a hell of a gambling face, Anders thought as he forced himself not to blush at the scrutiny. “Like what you see?” he joked.

Hawke didn’t laugh. But then Hawke didn’t usually laugh. “You actually have scars. That surprised me,” he said with a shrug.

Anders glanced down at his few scars. His skin was even paler than Hawkes and they were harder to see. But he’d ran away enough from the Circle to earn a few. “Does it win me anything?” he asked, glancing up.

Hawke snorted at him, reclining back on a stone he found to sit on, shaking his hair out. Anders stared at their surroundings. It was incredibly scenic and not something he’d ever seen before. He had always been a city boy. And the Anderfels had some gorgeous slopes and he’d always remember watching the sun rise or set over the snowing mountains. But he didn’t ever really appreciate nature. It was always white, maybe a little dead in Anderfels. “Why’d just the... why did just you come?” he asked finally, eyes again falling to the scars.

“Can’t bring the wagon out here. Can’t leave it alone. Not everybody wanted a wash.” He shrugged.

Anders braced himself. “Why’d you come?” He still quickly added, a little panicked, “I mean I’m happy to be washed and- thank you.” He felt his shoulders slump.

Hawke smirked at him and Anders glared back. The man would laugh at other people’s discomfort, damned jerk. “I was told I needed to.”

“And you listened?”

Hawke snorted. “I was also told to take you. Alistair volunteered but he was shot down.”

“What?”

“Varric thought this would be more interesting. Not sure why he cares since he’s not here. But, that’s him for you.”

Anders tried to wrap his mind around that. What was Varric doing? He glanced back at Hawke who gave a small shrug in return, obviously not sure himself. Tho, Hawke obviously didn’t care either. Anders pulled half his hair up to get it out of his face, working up the nerve to thank Hawke again. Anders didn’t think he had been complaining too much but maybe, compared to everybody else, he was. He wasn’t sure what Varric was doing. And none of this helped him understand Hawke. The man could be obstinate, but brought him to the river? Why? What did Varric offer him?

Anders let out a sigh, carefully making his way back up the bank. Hawke remained in the river, dunking himself again. Anders was fighting with his pants when he heard the sound of somebody coming. With haste. His chest tightened, Hawke still under the water, and he spun around to try and figure out where they were coming from- he couldn’t tell- and he summoned a pulse of magic. He’d never been good with ice, Hawke was in the water so he didn’t want to risk electricity, and fire- he thought of the burn on Hawke.

The man that hurtled through the foliage was large, of course. His dark hair a mess, skin dirty. His leathers worn and scratched. His dark eyes were narrowed as he snarled at Anders, his hand just an inch away from the blade on his back. Anders was sure he looked a fool. His pants loose, shirtless and wet. But he had his magic and if need be he would send this barbarian through a tree. Still, he didn’t want to and the two of them fell into a stalemate.

Hawke emerged, pushing his hair back and, with no sense of urgency, said, “Fergus.”

The barbarian spared a second to glance away before continuing the glaring contest. “Hawke.”

Anders glanced at Hawke, mentally urging Hawke to tell the man, Fergus to stand down. Hawke made his way up the bank, speaking. “You knew I was getting a mage correct?”

“Vaguely.”

“This is him.”

“Thought they’d send you a girl.”

“Still not sure they didn’t,” Hawke said, extending his hand. Fergus relaxed, the hand that had been going for the sword lowering to clasp with Hawke. That was when Anders noticed Fergus’s other hand wrapped around a small throwing knife. Fuck, he thought mentally, magic disappearing. He went back to pulling his pants on, not staring at the Hawke’s nude body. He had thought Hawke was modest but really, everything proved that entirely wrong. Course, with glutes like those-

No bad thoughts. He felt his face turn red as he slipped into his shirt and shrugged on the coat. When he emerged from his clothes, now fighting his boots, he could see Hawke beginning the ritual of getting dressed, Fergus apparently standing vigilant. Anders stared at the burn on Hawke’s hip until it disappeared, eyes rising to see Hawke watching him. He quickly looked away, scowling when he heard Hawke snicker.

Anders followed both of the barbarians as they made their way back, listening intently. “Loghain has some men on the move. I’ve seen a lot of messages flying around. I intercepted a few but they weren’t all that informative. They’ve been digging in the mountains and are moving south.”

Hawke nodded, frowning.

Fergus eyed him. “You going to do something about it?”

“Watch your tone, Fergus.” The man scowled and looked away. “Nathaniel is with us at camp,” Hawke said. Fergus glared harder at the ground. “Do I need to-”

“No. I’ll behave if he does.”

Hawke nodded. “Good. Go ahead and find Nathaniel. Tell him what you know and then to get his ass moving back to camp. Everybody needs to be prepared to leave in a hurry if need be.”

Fergus was incredibly unhappy with the development of the conversation but did as he was told. He ran off towards the camp, leaving them to their walking pace. Anders got a little closer to Hawke. “So- he’s that Fergus?”

Hawke didn’t even look at him as he grunted.

“Right. Stupid question.” Hawke grunted again. “Don’t have to rub it in,” Anders muttered. Anders actually had little to no idea what Hawke was actually thinking, but he provided a mental conversation anyway of what each grunt and glance meant if Hawke knew how to actually talk. It was likely to get him in trouble. Anders licked his lips. “So- is there going to be a large fight in the future.”

“Of course.”

“Soon?” Anders clarified.

“What’s large to you?”

Anders frowned, glancing down at his boots.

Hawke gave a heavy sigh. “You’ll likely be fine.”

Anders stumbled, eyes wide as he stared up at Hawke. “What?”

Hawke glared at him, not one to repeat himself. “You’re good enough to survive. Probably. Useful enough for it to matter at least.”

Anders stared after Hawke, eyes wide before he had to go into a jog to catch up. Suddenly elated after those words. They weren’t actually that nice, really. But Anders nearly skipped after Hawke, unable to hide his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Hawke does at least know that Anders isn't really a damsel in distress and is useful. And, between you, me, and the internet, he was probably impressed when he broke the surface and saw the scene between Fergus and Anders.
> 
> And I will always believe Isabela, Leliana, and Varric are shippers that totally go and ship people around them. Varric is perhaps taking a more active role in his shipping (pushing for canon).
> 
> I am also still curious as to any ships anybody would want to see. Because side stories are glorious and I love them. They flesh out a story sometimes, I think.


	12. Chapter 12

Zevran felt like his lungs were out of air, his heart stopped beating, when he saw the man laying on the dirt unmoving. The large hammer bloody laying off to the side. Zevran hadn’t heard Howe yelling for the healer and- did that mean Howe was done with Aedan? Was he dead? Zevran slipped around, not realizing his hand was shaking until he saw it hovering over Aedan’s head. His hair was short and matted now. Used to be lush messy curls.

I did this. Zevran took a shuddering breath. I did this. This is my fault. He gently lay his hand on Aedan. The elf pushed away the hair, looking for the pulse. Zevran’s relief was short lived when the hand grabbed his wrist. Because there was no strength to those fingers and that was his fault. He licked his lips. “Sé valiente soldado calma. Voy a hacerte daño nunca más.”

The human blinked, his eyes rolling, and Zevran easily pulled his hand free. “No me mires así. No más, por favor.” None of this had gone right. And those eyes. Half there, staring but gone and pleading but resigned. Dark eyes, blurry with pain and wet with tears. Her eyes. His eyes. “Es mi culpa.”

Aedan’s bloody lips moved, mouthing something. Babbling no doubt. Zevran was inclined to put him out of his misery. Aedan had no strength left. It would take nothing to choke him. Finish all of it. Let the man die. One more death on his conscious would be fine. Zevran knew he wasn’t a strong man. He’d likely not be able to carry the weight of both. Of Aedan’s and her’s. Rinna’s. But he deserved to be smothered and crushed beneath it.

But Aedan still had a fire in him. His hand came up again, stronger this time. Nothing of his old strength. Nothing that could actually stop Zevran (which was in and of itself heartbreaking because Aedan was a man that should be able to break Zevran) and held the wrist as the elf’s hands wrapped around his thick throat. Zevran’s thumb pressed just so and Aedan tried to say it. “No.”

Zevran pulled back. He still wasn’t sure why he cared so much. He didn’t understand how Aedan had weaseled his way in. Why it hurt. Sure, there was something heartbreaking to see such a good strong man in such a state. But Zevran had seen many good men fall to their knees. He’d seen plenty of heroes die. Maybe, after Rinna, something changed. Maybe Aedan really was special. Or Zevran was just that tired. His suicide hadn’t worked- Aedan refusing to kill him- and now this.

He heard them coming, the healers not a quiet bunch really, and he pulled his hand again from Aedan’s. Zevran hid away in the shadows, watching. “This is wrong,” the younger man said, scowling at the bloody mess.

The older one, a mage, already glowing, stretched his fingers over Aedan. “You want to tell Howe to stop?”

“No!” The young one pulled off his bag, getting out the cloths. “I like my tongue. And life. But this- Couslands were lying and dishonored themselves. Siding with Orlais and all. But this... the past should count for something. Let him fight for a good death at least.”

“Thought you liked your tongue, boy?”

The young herbalist frowned, paling a bit. He wetted the cloth and wiped at Aedan’s brow. “I said too much.”

“Aye.”

“He just beat him with the hammer didn’t he? After what he did a few days ago... how are we supposed to be keeping him alive with all this? How’s he living?”

“He won’t remember all of it. Minds odd like that. His soul and body though- that’ll remember.”

The young one frowned. “Suppose it’ll be a good thing he won’t live to grow old.”

“Aye. His body is beginning to give out. I’m not good enough to keep him around. Especially without blood magic to patch him up. But I ain’t risking that and he probably doesn’t want to stick around that long.”

The mage was wrong. Aedan was worth a great deal. And Aedan was still fighting. But Zevran was in no position to tell them as much. He watched as the mage’s hands glowed. He watched at the herbalist kept track of Aedan’s pulse. He waited. He watched them leave when Aedan was patched back together, laying dirty and bloody on the floor. Barely conscious. Zevran inched closer to Aedan, his heart not hurting as much anymore. Aedan’s head rolled to stare at him sort of.

“Qué estaba castigado por, mi soldado roto?” Zevran asked, still stuck in his native tongue. It was hard to always translate and in his current state he had reverted back.

Aedan’s brows furrowed, lips moving with no sound, trying to understand.

“Why did he hurt you this time?”

“Drakes founded in the caves,” Aedan said, voice hoarse and full of gravel. His words slurred and he stumbled through them, eyes fluttering closed. “I bes punished... nos just hurts.”

Zevran hummed, smoothing the hair around Aedan’s temple. “Drake? Ya veo. Ir a dormir ahora, soldado roto poco.”

Aedan was already out cold.

When Hawke’s small troop finally made it back into camp Bethany and Teagan had it all alive. Almost everything was packed. Yurts were broken down and extended families moving in together to make it easier to leave when the time came. Anders was admittedly impressed. He’d never been a very good packer. Never had much to pack either.

Hawke surveyed it all, nodding to Teagan to show approval. Teagan simply scowled at him, going on about something or another that was bothering him. Which would have been interesting enough, really. Seeing anybody even remotely yell at Hawke was always a nice change. But what caught his eye was Fergus. Fergus was a surprisingly mellow man compared to what Anders thought he would be like. He was a quiet, jaded man but also snarky and good natured under it all. He cared and wanted the good for the clan. Anders could see that. Anders could see why Couslands were respected if they were like him. If there was a younger man who was better than Fergus.

What was interesting, however, was the way the warrior almost made a beeline to Bethany. And, to further Anders interest as if that wasn’t enough, was the way Nathaniel’s normal scowl seemed to darken as he stared between them. Anders was concentrating so much- Fergus actually looked happy- that he was startled by Alistair clasping him on the shoulder.

“You could be of use, friend,” Alistair said.

Anders glanced from him back and then nodded. Alistair finally saw what he was looking at and frowned. But he only licked his lips and turned to leave. Anders scowled and trotted after him. “Another secret for one of them to tell?” he said, mocking what they said about Hawke.

“No. Just sort of sad. Nathaniel fancies Bethany a bit. But so does Fergus. And so Nathaniel stands no chance.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Nathaniel fancies Bethany. One of the reasons I’m sure that he scowls at you- you’re with her so much. But in the end he really can’t act on any of that because he’s a Howe and Fergus is a Cousland.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “Hawke is good to Bethany. Hasn’t forced her into a marriage, she’s rather old to be unmarried really, and she has a say. But Hawke would put his foot down with Nathaniel we’re all sure.”

“Because of his father?”

“Exactly. Rendon would either claim Bethany and whatever children they produced and steal them away. Or hate them and leave them hanging in a tree, gutted and feeding the buzzards for Hawke to find. Neither of which are favorable.” Alistair shrugged. “So Nathaniel doesn’t stand a lick of a chance while Rendon Howe lives. And, even if his dad dies, he’s still facing a Cousland for her hand. And Couslands are hard to beat. Bryce Cousland, Fergus’ father, was more well liked than my own. Some thought he should be leading the cause.”

“And mixing Cousland and Hawke would be seen as wonderful.”

“Especially with Bethany’s magic.” Alistair nodded.

“You all know that just because she’s a mage, it doesn’t guarantee that her children will be. Carver or Hawke’s children could be the mages.”

Alistair nodded and shrugged a shoulder. “The Hawke family have always been more magically inclined than others. One of the reasons they made it big. Some rumors and their general prowess helped as well.”

“A scandal?”

Alistair nodded.

Anders waited a moment before sighing. “Hawke’s tale to tell?”

Alistair frowned. “Everybody has their past, their regrets, and their shame Anders. For Hawke... let’s just say his father made some hard choices that weren’t the most agreeable.”

“Father issues?” Anders thought back to his own father and frowned. He could still hear the old bastard and his loud angry words.

“He wasn’t that close with his mother either, if that matters at all.” Alistair shrugged and made his way quickly to the tent. Anders had to jog and catch up, glancing back once to see Hawke giving orders to some scouts. The mage thought back to the scars, and to the new information, and to the old. And he still didn’t actually know a damn thing. Anders sighed and entered the yurt, damning his own curiosity.

He was also cursing his magic when Alistair told him he needed to go tell Hawke that one of the widows was pregnant. He made his way up and around, finding Hawke with Marethari. The old elf was sitting, drinking her steaming tea, big eyes closed. Hawke stood, staring off into the mist. Both of them straightened and turned to stare at him. Everybody silent and waiting. Anders was going to have to speak first.

“I’ve got, perhaps, some unpleasant news considering.”

Hawke grunted. But Anders was distracted by the large bird flying down. It landed on the arm of one of the scouts, the shrill cry of the bird brilliant. Marethari’s light laugh brought him back. He turned to see Hawke glaring at him.

Anders coughed a bit, staring at the bird from a corner of his eye. “Harrith’s wife is pregnant,” he said.

Hawke frowned, glancing away. Marethari spoke up. “Harrith was a good man,” she said. “He and Teagan went back, did they not?”

Hawke grunted. “That’s... inconsequential and Harrith is being inconvenient now.”

“Dead men have the right to breath life into the womb of their wife and to prove love is greater than death.”

Hawke spat into the grass before turning back to Anders. “How far is she?”

Anders shrugged. “Won’t know for sure until the baby comes. I’d guess around four months but...” He shrugged again.

“She can still walk.” A small relief that seemed. He turned, the scout running up to them, in no way quiet. “What?” Hawke snapped.

The scout glanced at Anders before speaking. “Carver and his return.”

Anders could see the tension ease a bit from his broad shoulders. Not that Hawke smiled, but he relaxed it seemed. “Finally.” Hawke turned, giving Marethari a goodbye before pushing passed both of them to make his way down to the small group of Teagan, Alistair, and Nathaniel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, learned a little bit more about Hawke. And the clan. And Zev.
> 
> I am still happy to discuss any pairings you readers might enjoy. Or anything you'd like to see (one commenter on LJ wanted more dwarfs for example). I can't promise anything, of course, but this is a rather big world I've made and I am happy to discuss it.

**Author's Note:**

> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/8469.html?thread=32413717#t32413717
> 
> kinkmeme prompt: 
> 
> M!Hawke is a fierce warlord and the leader of the Ferelden Horde, one of the most feared armies in Thedas. AggroWarrior!Hawke is given a pre-Awakening Anders as a 'Thanks for not invading' gift. This leads to the two of them in an arranged marriage to secure the alliance between their lands.  
> And in the best trashy romance novel tradition - genuine attraction leading to falling in love for real. :)
> 
> tags are going to change the more I get into it.


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